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HARPER'S  SERIES. 


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mnmi  mm  wmm 

BY 

MARCXUS   WILLSON, 

ZUTI.'OU    OF    PRIMARY     HISTOKY  ;     HISTORY    OF    THE 

UNITED  STATES  ;  AMERICAN   HISTORY  ;  AND 

OUTUKES  OF  GENERAL   HISTOKY. 

^\    ^X-4F    "^'^PE'^    ^    BROTHERS, 

£a^vJP  franklin  square. 


NEW     Y  O  B  K  . 


1  8C  3. 


TO  THE  TEACHER. 

O'er  wayward  childhood  wouldst  thou  hold  firm  rule', 
And  sun  thee  in  the  light  of  happy  faces', 
Love',  Hope',  and  Patience',"  these  must  be  thy  graces' ; 
And  in  thine  own!  heart*  let  them  first  keep  schoor. 

For  as  old  Atlas  on  his  broad  neck  places 
Heaven's  starry  globe',  and  there  sustains  it',  so 
Do  these  upbear  the  little  world  below 
Of  education* — Patience',  Love',  and  Hope\ 
Methinks  I  see  them  group'd  in  seemly  show*, 
The  straiten'd  arms  upraised*,  the  palms  aslope\ 
And  robes  that  touching  as  adown  they  flow, 
Distinctly'  blend*,  like  snow  emboss'd  in  snow*. 
Oh  part  them  never* !  If  Hope  prostrate  lie'. 

Love  too  will  sink  and  die*.  y 

But  Love  is  subtle*,  and  doth  proof  derive 
From  her  own  life'  that  Hope  is  yet  alive* ; 
And  bending  o'er',  with  soul-transfusing  eyes', 
And  the  soft  murmurs  of  the  mother  dove', 
Woos  back  the  fleeting  spirit*,  and  half  supplies* ; 
Thus  Love  repays  to  Hope'  what  Hope  first  gave  to  Love\ 
Yet  haply  there  will  come  a  weary  day. 

When,  overtask'd  at  length, 
Both  Love  and  Hope  beneath  the  load  give  way\ 
Then  with  a  statue's  smile*,  a  statue's  strength*, 
Stands  the  mute  sister.  Patience*,  nothing  loth*. 
And  both  supporting',  does  the  work  of  both*. 


COLESIDOE. 


/-  I'r. 


rflM 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tho  year  one  thoosand  eight  hundred  and 

Bixty-one,  by 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District  of  New  Yoric 


GIFT 


rt- 


PREFACE. 


The  Fifth  Reader  of  the  "  School  and  Family  Series"  more  fully  devel- 
ops the  plan  of  the  author  than  the  preceding  numbers.  While  we  have 
aimed  to  compile  a  series  of  books  in  every  respect  adapted  to  give  all 
needed  instruction  in  the  art  of  reading,  we  have  also  endeavored  to  make 
them  the  medium  of  conveying,  in  as  interesting  a  form  as  possible,  a  large 
amount  of  useful  knowledge ;  and  it  is  with  a  great  degree  of  confidence 
that  all  practical  educators  will  acknowledge  the  possibility  of  harmonizing 
these  two  objects  in  a  reading-book  for  schools,  that  the  present  volume  is 
submitted  to  them.  What  better  7-eading-lessons  could  be  given  than  the 
numerous  poetical  extracts  which  are  used  to  illustrate  the  lessons  in  Bot- 
any, where  we  find  such  gems  as  "The  Moss  Rose"  (p.  150) ;  Roscoe's  ad- 
dress to  "The  Camellia"  (p.  154);  Leigh  Hunt's  "Chorus  of  Flowers"  (p. 
157) ;  Mrs.  Southey's  "Night-blooming  Cereus,"  or  "Unpretending  Worth" 
(p.  159) ;  Dickens's  "  Ivy  Green"  (p.  163) ;  Emerson's  "  Rhodora"  (p.  171) ; 
Mary  Howitt's  "Corn-fields"  (p.  194);  that  fine  moral  story  of  "The 
Fern  and  the  Moss,"  by  Eliza  Cook  (p.  201);  and  Longfellow's  tribute  to 
the  "  Drifting  Searweed"  (p.  210)  ?  And  why  should  not  Holmes's  beauti- 
ful description  of  "  The  Living  Temple"  (see  p.  85)  be  both  a  more  useful 
and  a  more  interesting  reading  exercise  when  appropriately  made  a  lesson 
in  Physiology  than  when  read  as  an  isolated  piece,  dissevered  from  its 
natural  connections  ?  And  where  can  be  found  better  reading  exercises 
than  such  as  we  have  used  to  illustrate  and  give  interest  to  Physical  Ge- 
ography, among  which  are  found  Mrs.  Sigourney's  description  of  "  The 
Coral  Insect"  (p.  371) ;  Bryant's  description  of  mountain  scenery,  and  of 
"The  Prairies"  (p.  372,  379);  Willis  Gaylord  Clark's  address 'to  "The 
Alps"  (p.  375) ;  Prentice's  "  Mammoth  Cave"  (p.  384) ;  Coleridge's  "  Val- 
ley  of  Chamouni"  (p.  388) ;  Proctor's,  and  Percival's,  and  Byron's  descrip- 
tions of  "The  Ocean"  (p.  394-7);  and  the  several  descriptions  given  of 
the  "Falls  of  Niagara"  (p.  405-7)?  Such  selections,  every  one  must  ad- 
mit, are  far  more  interesting  and  instructive  when  they  are  used  to  illus- 
trate, and  are  themselves  illustrated  by,  important  facts  and  principles  in 
science,  than  when  they  appear  in  miscellaneous  collections  merely  as 
"  Orient  pearls  at  random  strung.''  It  is  only  when  the  subjects  to  which 
they  refer  are  understood  that  such  pieces  are  duly  appreciated. 

As  variety,  within  the  limits  of  good  style,  and  embracing  both  prose  and 
poetry,  is  correctly  considered  an  essential  requisite  of  a  good  reading-book 
for  advanced  pupils,  we  may  justly  urge  that  the  plan  of  the  present  work 
has  peculiar  advantages  in  this  respect ;  for  not  only  do  the  illustrative  se- 
lections to  which  we  have  alluded  give  great  variety  to  the  scientific  divi- 
sions, but  each  of  these  departments  of  knowledge  has  a  literature  of  its 
own ;  each  has  its  peculiar  words,  and  its  forms  of  expression,  as  well  as  its 
principles,  with  which  not  only  every  scholar,  but  every  general  reader 

377 


IV  PREFACE. 

should  be  familiar,  but  none  of  which  would  be  presented  in  a  miscellaneous 
reading-book  that  should  omit  all  notice  of  the  subjects  themselves.  But,  to 
meet  all  possible  demands  for  suitable  variety,  we  have  given  "Miscella- 
neous Divisions"  also,  and  in  these  have  endeavored  to  make  good  what- 
ever may  be  wanting  in  the  more  scientific  portions.  In  Part  I.  we  have 
given  a  pretty  full  elucidation  of  some  of  the  higher  principles  of  elocution, 
with  abundant  examples  for  illustration ;  and  in  Part  XI.  we  have  made 
such  a  selection  of  reading-lessons,  in  great  part  poetical,  as  will  present,  in 
chronological  order,  the  outlines  of  Ancient  History. 

Of  the  amount  of  useful  knowledge  which  the  plan  adopted  in  these 
reading-books  is  calculated  to  impart,  we  need  only  remark  that  we  have 
aimed  to  present  the  leading  truths  of  science^in  a  form  as  attractive  as 
possible,  and  have  therefore  avoided  the  dry  details  and  technicalities  which 
would  have  been  required  in  a  complete  scientific  text-book.  Our  object 
has  been  to  present  a  pleasing  introduction  to  science  rather  than  to  give 
any  thing  like  a  full  exposition  of  any  one  department.  The  great  mass 
of  pupils  in  our  schools  know  nothing  whatever  of  many  of  the  subjects 
here  treated,  nor  is  there  any  possibility  of  their  becoming  acquainted  with 
them  by  any  other  method  than  by  the  one  here  adopted.  It  is  thought, 
if  all  the  pupils  in  our  schools  should  acquire  some  knowledge  of  these  sub- 
jects while  attending  to  their  ordinary  reading-lessons,  and  become  inter- 
ested in  the  wonderful  truths  with  which  they  abound,  they  will,  in  most 
Austances,  be  stimulated  to  seek  a  farther  acquaintance  with  them,  and  that 
2he  foundations  may  thus  be  laid  for  a  wider  dissemination  of  scientific 
knowledge,  and  a  higher  degree  of  popular  education  than  has  hitherto 
been  thought  attainable. 

We  might  refer  to  the  Natural  History  illustrations  in  the  present  volume 
as  surjiassing  any  thing  of  the  kind  ever  before  published  in  this  country ; 
but  while  their  beauty — for  which  we  are  indebted  to  the  jjcncil  of  a  Par- 
sons— will  be  acknowledged  by  all,  it  is  their  vtiliti/,  as  objects  of  interest 
and  instruction  to  pupils,  to  which  we  would  more  particularly  call  atten- 
tion ;  for  not  only  does  an  accurate  and  striking  illustration  of  an  object 
often  give  a  more  correct  idea  of  it  than  pages  of  description,  but  so  maps 
it  upon  the  memory  that,  by  the  most  interesting  of  all  associations,  the 
very  description  itself  is  indelibly  pictured  there.  The  admirable  system 
of  ^* object  teaching,"  whose  principles  should  be  carried  throughout  the 
entire  educational  course  of  eveiy  individual,  could  scarcely  receive  better 
aids  than  those  furnished  in  the  illustrations  here  given. 

For  valuable  aid  in  several  of  the  scientific  divisions  of  the  present  work, 
it  affords  me  pleasure  here,  as  in  the  preceding  volume,  to  acknowledge  my 
indebtedness  to  Prof.  N.  B.  Webster,  of  Virginia;  and  while  doing  this  I 
would  take  occasion  to  express  the  hope  that,  however  much  the  citizens 
of  different  states  and  sections  may  differ  in  their  political  views,  in  the 
sacred  cause  of  science  and  popular  education  they  may  ever  be  united. 

M.  WiLLSON. 
N«w  YoM,  M»7  15th,  18flt 


CONTENTS. 


[Explanatory. — Tliose  lessons  designated  by  italicfi,  or  the  authors  of  -which,  in  whol« 
or  in  part,  are  so  designated,  are  poetical  selections ;  the  names  of  authors  in  small  capi- 
tals denote  prose  selections;  and  those  marked  "Adapted"  are  occasionally  original,  but 
mostly  adapted  orcoiMiiled  from  various  sources.] 

PART  I. 

ELOCUTIONARY.  Page 

I.  Inflections ;  Elementary  Rules 11 

II.  Higher  Principles  of  Elocution IS 

Lesson  FIRST  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 

I.  Green  River Bnjant.  43 

II.  The  best  Kind  of  Revenga Chambees.  44 

III.  A  viodest  Wit Anonymous.  40 

IV.  The  Eloquence  of  Action Webster.  47 

V.  Use  plain  Language La  Beoyere.  48 

VI.  The  Three  Black  Crows Buront.    48 

VII.  What  is  a  Gentleman  ? G.  W.  Doane.    49 

VIII.  What  is  Time  f Marsden.    50 

PART  II. 

HERPETOLOGY,  or  THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  REPTILES. 

I.  Introductory  View Adapted.  51 

II.  A  Letter  about  the  Chelonians,  or  Turtles Adapted.  64 

III.  A  second  Letter  about  Turtles Adapted,  57 

IV.  A  Letter  about  the  Saurians Goodeicii  ;  Adapted.  61 

V.  T'he  Crocodile  and  the  Ichneumon Mrs.  J.  L.  Graf/.  67 

Vr.  A  Letter  about  the  Ophidians Virijil;  Southey;  Adapted.     68 

VII.  A  Letter  about  the  Amphibians Adapted.    72 

SECOND  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 

I.  To  a  Girl  in  her  Thirteenth  Year Sidney  Walker.  75 

II.  The  Love  of  Country Grimkb.  76 

III.  A  noble  Revenge Thomas  pe  Quincey.  77 

IV.  HanUeVft  Soliloquy Shakspmre.  78 

V.  The  Folly  of  Castle-building Addison.  79 

VI.  The  Stranger  and  his  Friend Montqomery.    80 

VII.  Scene  between  Brutus  and  Cassius Slvakspeare.    82 

PART  III. 

SECOND  DIVISION  OF  HUMAN  PHYSIOLOGY  AND  HEALTH. 

I.  The  Window  of  the  Soul Adapted.  83 

Our  Sight  the  most  delightful  of  all  our  Senses Addison.  84 

II.  The  Livin'j  Temple Oliver  Wendell  Nobnef).  85 

III.  The  Brain :  the  Nerves  of  Voluntary  Motion  and  the  Nerves  of  Feeling.  Adapted.  87 

IV.  Other  Forms  of  Nervous  Action Adapted.  93 

V.  Spirit,  the  Motive  Power  of  the  Body Laednee!  96 

VL  Variou.^  Phenomena  of  the  Nervou3'Sy:?tem Adapted.  98 

1.  What  is  necessary  to  Sensation  and  Voluntary  Motion , 98 

2.  Nei-vous  Paralysis 99 

3.  No  Feeling  in  the  Nerves  of  Motion,  in  the  Brain,  or  in  the  Heart"  .".'.* .'.'.'  100 
4  The  Reunion  and  Healing  of  nevered  Nerves 101 

VII.  Intemperance  the  Prime  Minister  of  Death Anonymous.  102 

VIII.  Look  iwt  upon  the  Wine N.  p.  Willis.  103 

IX.  The  Water-drinker E.  Johnson.  104 

X.  How  the  Mind  speaks  through  the  Nerves  and  Mu^^cles Adapted.  105 

XI.  The  Language  of  the  Countenance Tasao ;  Shakspeare;  Spenser;  Adapted.  107 

XII.  Uses  of  Anatomy  and  Physiology  to  the  Painter Sir  Charles  Bell.  Ill 

XIII.  Marvels  of  Human  Caloric Eclectic  Review.  112 

XIV.  Lines  on  a  Skeleton London  Morning  Chronicle.  116 

XV.  Education  of  the  Muscles  of  Expression Adapted.  117 

Expresfdon  of  the  Countenance  after  Death Byron.  119 

XVL  Disorders  of  the  Nervous  System:  Visions,  Apparitions,  and  Dreams..  Adapted.  119 


Yl  CONTENTS. 

Lewon  P*R« 

XVII.  A  Dream,  and  its  Explanation Dbapeb.  1j3 

XVIII.  The  Health  of  the  Brain Adapted.  125 

XIX.  The  FooVs  Covij^laint Anommujuii.  12T 

XX.  Rules  for  Mental  Exercise • Adapted.  128 

XXI.  Advice  to  a  hard  Student Charles  Mackay.  129 

XXII.  Neglect  of  Health Samuel  Johnson.  130 

The  Joys  of  Health Gay;  Thonuon.  131 

THIRD  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISM)N. 

L  The  Village  School  of  Olden  Time Goldsmith.  132 

n.  The  Righteous  never  Forsaken New  York  Speotatok.  133 

III.  The  FavMi)  Meeting Charles  Sprague.  IS.'S 

IV,  Tact  and  Talent London  Atlab.  136 

V.  Rain  upon  the  Roof A  nonynums.  133 

VI.  Good  Advice Anonymous.  139 

VII.  True  Knowledge Bisuop  Mant.  139 

PART  IV. 

SECOND  DIVISION  OF  BOTANY. 

L  The  Study  of  Botany Crabbe.    Adapted.  140 

n.  Clasaification  of  Plants Milton,     Adapted.  141 

m.  Natural  Method  of  Classiiication Adapted.  143 

The  Floral  Kingdom Thomson.  145 

May  Flowers Barrington.  146 

FIRST  DIVISION  OF  THE   VEGETABLE    KINGDOM  :    EXOGENS. 

IV.  The  Rose  Family Cowley ;  Carey,  and  others.    Adapted.  147 

To  the  Rose Mrs.  Uemans.  14T 

The  Feast  of  Roses Moore.  149 

The  Moss  Rose From  the  German.  160 

V.  Our  Common  Fruits Thomson;  Moore;  Virgil;  Wordsworth.    Adapted.  151 

To  the  A  Imond  Blossom Edwin  A  mold.  153 

VI.  Camellia,  Mallow,  and  Citron  Families Goethe.    Adapted.  154 

I'o  the  Camellia W.  Roscoe.  155 

VIL  Chorus  of  Flowers Leigh  Hunt.  157 

VIII.  The  Cactus  Family Adapted.  15S 

Cactus  Blossom Mrs.  Sigoumey.  15S 

Night- Blooming  Cereus A  nonymous.  159 

Unpretending  Worth Mrs.  SouUiey.  159 

IX,  Leguminousand 'Umbelliferous  Plants.. <SA«i/er/;  Daruyin;  Prior.   Adapted.  161 

The  Ivy  Green Charles  Dickens.  163 

X.  The  Composite^  or  Sunflower  Family Moore;  Campbell.    Adapted.  164 

The  Marigold A nonynious.  165 

The  Daisy Wordsworth ;  John  Mason  Good.  166 

The  Thistle-flower Twamley.  167 

XI.  Jessamine,  Honeysuckle,  and  Heath  Families,  ..Seott;  Landon.    Adapted.  163 

The  Jasmine Coirper;  Moore.  163 

The  Rhodoi-a R  W.  Emerson.  171 

The  Psycliology  of  Flowers Hunt's  Poetry  of  Science.  171 

XII.  Labiate  and  Trumpet-flower  Families Adapted.  173 

XIII.  Forest  Trees Washington  Ibvino.  173 

XIV,  The  Oak  Family Adapted.  174 

Selections  from  Coitv^r;  Seott;  Southey;  Morris;  Longfellow;  Shak- 
spenrc;  Campbell^  and  others. 

XV.  The  Oak  and  the  Nobleman Washington  Ibvtng.  178 

XVI.  The  Elm,  Willow,  and  Birch  Families Adapted,  178 

Selections  from //omer;  Ovid;  Cowper;  N.  S.Dodge;  Byron;  Scott. 

Jliawnthd's  Came LonrifeUotP.  183 

XVIL  TheConc-beariug,  or  Pine  Family.  Fi»v7i7;irood;/*ierponf;  Bi/roTi.  Adapted.  182 
XVIIL  To  a  Pine-tree Jam^s  Russell  Lowell.  185 

SECOND  DIVISION  OF  THE  VEGETABLE   KINGDOM  :    ENDOGENS. 

XIX.  The  Iris,  Lily,  and  Palm  Families Twamley;  Thomson;  Montgomtnj. 

.Vdaptcd.  186 

XX.  Sedges  and  Grasses Adapted.  190 

The  Voico  of  the  Grass Sarah  Roberts.  192 

The  Harvest  Moon Henry  Kirke  White.  194 

Com-fu'lds Marii  llmritt.  l'.»4 

XXI.  Of  the  Hidden  Uses  of  Plants M.  F.  Tripper.  196 


CONTENTS.  VU 

Lesson  THIRD   DIVISION:     CRYPTOGAMOUS   PLANTS.  Page 

XXII.  Ferns,  Liverworts,  and  Mosses  (Acrogens) W.  Scott.     Adapted.  196 

XXIII.  The  Mosses  (Acrogens) Akenside ;  Thomson.     Adapted.  199 

The  Lovely  Moas Miss  M.  A.  Browne.  199 

The  Moss  in  the  Desert Mungo  Paek.  200 

XXrV.  The  Fcrnand  the  Moss Eliza  Cook.  201 

XXV,  Lichens  (Thallogens) Campbell ;  Darwin ;  Mary  Hovritt.    Adapted.  202 

XXVI.  Fungi,  or  Funamis  Plants  (Thallogens) Adapted.  20G 

XXVII.  Algae,  or  Sea-\^ds  (ThaUogens) Clmrlotte  Smith.    Adapted.  209 

The  Uriftimj  Sea-weed Longfellow.  210 

The  Sea-wort M.  F.  Tujjper.  211 

The  Sea-weed .-: C.G.  Fenner.  211 

XXVin.  Domestic  Flower  Culture Chambebs'  Miscellany.  213 

FOURTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 

I.  Eva Eulwer  Lytton.  215 

n.  Gil  Bias  and  the  Archbishop Le  Sage.  216 

m.   The  Bells Edgar  A.  Poe.  219 

IV.  Speaking  and  Doing Eulleid.  221 

V.  Resistance  to  British  Oppression Patrick  Henry.  222 

VL  The  American  Indiana Speague.  222 

PART  V. 

ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR  THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  FISHES. 

I.  Nature  of  the  Study Spenser ;  Milton.    Adapted.  223 

n.  The  Physiology  of  Fishes  (Agassiz's  Arrangement) Adapted.  225 

FIRST   CLASS:     SPINE-RAYED   BONY   FISHES. 

UL  The  Perch  Familj'- Ausonius;  Jtivenal ;  Horace.    Adapted.  228 

IV.  Other  Families  of  the  Spine- rayed  Fishes.  .English  Magazine  ;  De.  Ham- 
ilton ;  So2)hocles ;  02ypian Adapted.  233 

V.  The  Spine-rayed  Fishes — continued.  .Oi>>i>ian;  Captain  Ricuaeds;  Mont- 
gomery; SwAiNsoN Adapted.  23T 

SECOND   CLASS:     SOFT-RAYED    BONY   FISHES. 
VI.  Soft-rayed  Bony  Fishes  with  Abdominal  Ventral  Fins :  Carp,  Pike,  and  Cat- 
fish Families.  .iV/oore;  Wordsworth;  Montgomery .i&ndiothevii.    Adapted.  242 

VIL  To  the  Flying-fish Moore.  24T 

Vin.  Fishes  with  Abdominal  Ventral  Fins  (continued) :  Salmon,  and  Trout,  and 

Herring,  and  Pilchard  Families Adapted.  248 

XX.  The  Sub-brachial  soft-rayed  Bony  Fishes Adapted.  251 

1.  The  Cod  Family.     A  Charade  on  Cod Adapted.  252 

2.  Family  of  the  Flat-fish  ..Yareell;  Swainson;  Juvenal.    Adapted.  252 
8.  The  Salt-water  Suckers Adapted.  254 

X.  The  Apodal  Soft-rayed  Bony  Fishes Yaeeell,     Adapted.  256 

XI.  Fishes  with  Tufted  Gills Adapted.  253 

Fishes  with  Soldered  Jaws Adapted.  258 

THIRD   class:    CARTILAGINOUS   FISHES. 

XTI.  The  Shark  Family L.  E.  Maclean ;  Cuviee;  Scoeesby.     Adapted.  260 

Xni.  Sturgeon,  Chimsera,  Ray,  and  Lamprey  Families Adapted.  264 

Concluding  Remarks 26T 

XIV.  The  Aquaria,  or  Drawing-room  Fish-ponds Adapted.  263 

FIFTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 

L  The  Glonj  of  the  Imaqhiation Wordsicorth.  273 

II.  Shylock :  a  Scene  of  Contending  Passions Shakspeaee.  273 

m.  Shylock  and  the  Merchant :  the  Trial  Scene Shakspeare.  274 

IV.  Character  of  Portia,  as  displayed  in  the  Trial  Scene Mrs.  Jajweson.  278 

V.  The,  Philosophers  Scales Jane  Taylor.  280 

PAKT  VI. 

CIVIL  ARCHITECTURE. 

I.  Grecian  and  Roman  Architecture Adapted.  283 

TI.  Athenian  Architecture  during  the  Age  of  Pericles Bulwer.  285 

in.  Ruins  of  the  Coliseum  at  Rome Adapted.  287 

PMins  of  the  Coliseum B7jro7i.  287 

rv,  Gothic  Architecture Adapted.  287 


via  CONTENTS. 


Castles  and  Abb^yf  of  Feudal  Times,  Warton;  Wm.  Eeattie  ;  W.  Scott.  'ZST 

V.  Of  the  UHefnl  in  Arcliitecture A.J.  Downing.  203 

VL  Of  ICxprertsion  in  Civil  or  Public  .Architecture Literary  Would.  295 

YII.  Of  Kxpressionin  Domestic  Architecture A.  J.  Downing.  2% 

VIII.  The  Poetry  of  Cottage  Architecture Loudon's  .Magazine.  29S 

IX.  The  ShephercCa  Cottag" Charlotte  SmUlt.  300 

X.  Of  TruthfiilneBS  in  Architecture A.  J.  Downing.  302 

XL  Monuments  of  the  liuiial-ground .^ J.  A.  Picton.  303 

XII.  The  Architecture  of  Nature W Adapted.  305 

God's  First  Temples Jinjant.  306 

2^he  Parthenon  of  Athena 3[r8.Hemans.  3U8 

SIXTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 

I.  Indian  Summer 3/r«.  Sigourruy.  309 

11.  Forgiveness  of  Injuries Blair.  310 

IIL  Pasxing  Atoay Pierpont.  311 

IV.  The  Dream  of  the  Two  Itoads.-. Jkan  Paul  Ricutee.  312 

V.  Thanatnpsis ;  or,  Reflections  on  Death Bryant.  314 

VL  Tlie  Village  Blacksmith Longfellow.  315 

PART  YII. 

SECOND  DIVISION  OF  NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY^. 

L  The  Library :  Introductory Adapted.  MT 

II.  Hydrostatics,  or  Liquids  in  a  State  of  Rest Adapted.  319 

HI.  Hydrostatics  (continued) Adapted.  3-23 

IV.  Floating  Bodies  ;  Specific  Gravity .Adapted.  3*27 

Arcliime'des  and  the  Crown Rohekt  C.  Wintiibop.  330 

V.  Hydraulics :  the  Excursion Adapted.  331 

Song  oftlie  Brook Tennyson.  331 

The  Bucket Woodicorlh.  334 

The  Cataract  of  Lodore Smitheii.  33T 

VI.  Pneumatics  :  Galileo  and  Torricelli Adapted.  340 

Practical  Value  of  the  Barometer Dr.  Arnott.  343 

\TL  Atmospheric  Machiues ' Dancin ;  Adapted.  347 

The  Lost  Kite A  nonyiuous,  351 

A  Riddle Anonymous.  352 

Vin.  The  Steam-engine Adapted.  353 

The  Steam-engine Saxe ;  Lord  Jeffrey  ;  Dr.  Aesott.  356 

2'he  Song  of  Steam G.  W.  Culler.  366 

SEVENTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 

I.  niessings  on  Children W.  G.  Simw^.  357 

11.  The  .'Saracen  Brothers New  Monthhj  Magazine.  350 

III.  Our  Country  and  our  Home James  Montgomery.  363 

IV.  The  Gipsy  FortAine-teller Anomimoti^.  363 

V.  Success  alone  seen L.  E.  Maclean,  364 

PART  VIII. 

FIRST  DIVISION  OF  PHYSICAL  GEOGRAPHY. 
1.  General  Description Adapted.  365 

II.  Continfuts  and  Islands Adapted.  367 

HI.  Coral  I.-lands  and  Reefs Percival;  Adapted.  369 

IV.  The  Coral  [nsect Mrs.  Sigonniey.  371 

V.  Mountains HowiTT ;  GuYOT ;  Hitjiboldt;   Adapted.  .^72 

Mmmtain  Scenery Brxiant.  372 

Thir  Alps Willis  Gayloni  aark.  376 

VI.  Table-lands,  Plains,  and  Valleys Adapted.  376 

VII.   The  Pniiries th-m>.t.   :;79 

VIII.  Caves  and  (;rottoes  of  the  Old  World.... Goldsmith;  If.  ico^f;    '  " 

IX.  (.Javes  in  the  United  States 

X.  The  Mammoth  ( 'ane George  1>.  i 

XI.  Avalanches  and  Glaciers 

llyvin  before  Sunrise  in  the  Valley  of  Chamouni ' 

XH.  The  Cottage  nf  the  Ilifls ; A>:  > 

XIII.  Volcanora  and  Earthquakes Db.  HiTonoooK ;  ' 

Dest'iu'tion  of  .sVv/?/,r  hi  17S3 Ar^  2 

XIV.  The  Ocean :  its  Moral  Grandeur \      .  - 

The  Ocean Bryan  W.  Ptoclor.  31)4 


CONTENTS.  IX 

Lesson  Page 

XV,  The  Ocean :  its  Physical  Aspects John  Wilson;  Adapted.  395 

XVI.  Ship  among  the  Icebergs Anonijmous.  396 

XVII.  The  Depths  of  Ocean Deummond.  396 

The  Ocean  Depths Percival.  397 

XVIIL  The  Ocean  Waves Adapted.  39T 

''^Roll  071,  thou  deep  and  dark  Uue  ocean" Byron.  397 

To  a  dying  Wave Anonymous.  398 

XIX,  Tides  and  Cu|?:ents Mes.  Someeville;  Lieut.  Mattby;  Adapted,  399 

XX,  Lakes Adapted.  401 

To  Seneca  Lake Percival.  402 

XXL  Springs  and  Rivers Adapted.  402 

XXIL  Cataracts Adapted.  404 

The  Falls  of  Niagara Geeenwood  ;  HowisoN.  405 

XXIIL  A  Vision's  Spell ;  Magara Anoiiymous.  407 

EIGHTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 

I.  The  Wayside  Spring T'toman  Buchanan  Read.  408 

II,  The  Headstone John  Wilson  ((Jiieistopher  Noeth).  409 

III.  1,  The  Seasons  of  Life ;  Southey.    2.  Small  Things.    3.  How  we  nhould  live. 

4.  To  my  Son 413 

IV.  The  Stream  of  Life Hebee,  414 

PART  IX. 

FIRST  DIVISION  OF  CHEMISTRY. 

I,  Introductory  View Adapted.  416 

II.  First  Principles :  Lltimate  Atoms ..  Kennedy  ;  Shakspeare;  Hunt.  Adapted.  416 

III.  7'he  Man  and  the  A  torn Charles  Mackay.  418 

IV.  Chemical  Agents :  Heat — Light Adapted.  419 

To  the  Sunbeam Mrs.  Hemans.  421 

Dream  of  Darkness Byron.  421 

V.  Chemical  Agents  (continued) :  Electricity Adapted.  422 

VL  The  Electric  Telegraph Adapted.  424 

The  EJechie  Telegraph Anonymous.  424 

VIL  Chemical  Affinities Adapted.  425 

VIII.  Leading  Cliaracteristics  of  the  four  principal  Elements :  Oxygen,  Hydrogen, 

Carbon,  Nitrogen Adapted.  426 

IX.  Chemical  Knowledge  and  the  Useful  Arts.     Sulphur  and  Chlorine.    Adapted.  429 
X.  The  principal  Metals :  Gold,  Silver,  Iron,  .fiwrns,*  Zfomer;  Cw«er.    Adapted.  430 

''Gold!  Gold!  Gold!" Hood.  430 

The  Silver  Bird's-nest H.  F.  Gould.  431 

XL  Acid.",  Alkalies,  and  Salts Adapted.  433 

iJasy  Lesson  in  Chemistry Anonymous.  434 

XII.  The  Chemi-stry  of  a  Candle Dickens'  Household  Words.  435 

XIII.  The  Poetic  Realities  of  Nature Hunt's  Poetry  of  Science.  442 

XIV,  The  Extent  of  Chemical  Action Robebt  Hunt.  444 

NINTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 

L  Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church-yard  (with  32  Illustrations) .  Tliomas  Gray.  445 
IL  The  Razor-seller John  Wolcott  {Peter  Pindar).  456 

PART  X. 

FIRST  DIVISION  OF  GEOLOGY. 

I.  Introductory :  The  Creation Adapted.  457 

II.  Raphael's  A  ccount  of  the  Creation Milton.  458 

ni.  Character  of  the  Geological  History  of  the  Earth Lyell;  Shakspeare. 

Adapted.  459 

IV.  The  Primary  Period  of  the  Earth's  History Hugh  Millee.     Adapted.  463 

The  Scenery  of  the  Primary  Period Thomas  Aird.  463 

V.  The  Transition  Period , Adapted,  404 

Geological  History  of  the  Nautilus Mrs.  flowitt.  465 

VI,  The  Secondary  Period Db.  Buokland;  Hugh  Millee.     Adapted.  406 

VII.  The  Tertiary  Period Horace  Smith.    Adapted.  469 

Song  of  the  Dinotherium Anow.mow.  471 

VIIT.  The  Modern  Geological  Period Adapted.  472 

IX.  Retrospective  View  of  Geology Mantell.  478 

X.  A  Vi^it  to  the  (Jountry  of  the  Iguanodon , Mantell.  474 

X  f.  The  Vision  of  Mo?e3 Hugh  Millee.  476 

XII.  Geological  Agencies  now  in  operation , Adapted.  479 

A  2 


CONTENTS. 

Mon  Pag* 

XIII.  Coral  Islands MonUjomenj.  481 

XIV.  Geological  Monuments Sib  Hcmpiiret  Davy.  482 

XV.  Mineralogy,  the  Alphabet  of  Geology.     Simple  Minerals Adapted.  483 

XVI.  Compound  Minerals Adapted.  486 

Geological  Cookery A  nonymous.  486 

XVII.  Brief  Extracts Herscdel  ;  Paekbibon  ;  Mantelu  4S7 

XVIII.  Concluding  Kemarks From  Mantell's  Wonders  of  Geology.  488 

TENTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 

I.  The  Raven Edgar  A.  Poe.  489 

II.  The  Dignity  of  Work Tuouas  Caeltle.  492 

IIL  The  Duty  of  Labor Dewey.  492 

IV.  Work  Away Anomjniotis.  493 

V.  Never  Despair Anonymous.  495 

VL  God  is  Every  where Anonymous.  495 

Paternal  Affection Walter  Scott.  496 

PART  XI. 

■-      ANCIENT  HISTORY  PRIOR  TO  THE  CHRISTIAN  ERA- 

I.  Earl^  Grecian  History Adapted.  497 

II.  Grecian  Mythology Wordsworth.  493 

III.  The  Persian  Wars :  Battle  of  Thermopylae Adapted.  499 

IV.  Address  of  Leonidas  to  the  Spartans Richard  Glover.  501 

V.  The  Spartans  nobly  kept  their  Oath Geo.  W.  Donne.  501 

VI.   The  Glory  of  their  Fall Byron.  502 

VII.  Battle  of  i?al'amis,  and  Flight  of  Xerxes Adapted.  5(  i2 

Description  of  the  Battle  of  Sal' amis jEschjjlus.  602 

The  Flight  of  Xerxes Mrs.  Jeicsbitni.  504 

VIH.  Battle  of  Platse'a ;  End  of  the  Persian  Wars Bulweb.  506 

IX.  The  Era  of  Grecian  Eloquence  and  Literature Adapted.  508 

The  Political  Demagogue Aristophanes.  509 

X.  The  Olympian  Games  :  Chariot -race.,  and  Death  of  Orcites Sophocles.  510 

XI.  The  latter  Days  of  Grecian  History Adapted.  511 

XII.  Early  Roman  History Adapted.  512 

XIII.  The  Story  of  Iloratius Macaulay.  613 

XIV.  Patrician  and  Plebeian  Contests Adapted.  516 

XV.  The  Ston/  of  Virginia Macaulay.  51T 

XVI.  The  Carthaginian  Wars Adapted.  520 

XVII.  Regultis  before  the  Senate Dale.  521 

XVin.  The  Downfall  of  Carthage Adapted.  522 

XIX.  Address  of  Hannibal  to  his  Army 623 

XX.  Continuation  of  Roman  History Adapted.  524 

MarivH  seated  on  the  Ruins  of  Carthage Mrs.  Child.  524 

XXI.  Roman  Gladiatorial  Combats Adapted.  525 

T/ie  Dying  Gladiator Byron.  526 

XXIL  The  Revolt  of  Spartacus Adapted.  526 

Speech  of  Spartacus  to  the  Gladiators E.  Kki.loog.  627 

XXIH.  The  Conspiracy  of  Catiline Adapted.  628 

Banishment  of  CcitiHne CroU).  528 

XXIV.  Wars  of  Crcsar  and  Pompey  :  Death  of  Cato Adapted.  631 

CaMs  Bolilo({wi Addison.  631 

XXV.  The  Death  of  Ctpsar Adapted.  532 

Brutus  a7ul  Mark  Antony  on  the  Death  of  Ccesar Shaksjieare.  533 

XXVL  End  of  the  Roman  Republic Adapted.  637 

Historic  Associations Dr.  Johnson.  638 


Explanation  of  the  CnARAOTERs  used  in  Co.nnection  with  the  Botanical  Descrip- 
TiONB. — In  the  botanical  descriptions,  the  botanical  name  of  the  plant  is  first  given  in 
italics;  then  follow  the  common  name,  Linnscan  class,  LinnaBin  order,  native  color  of  bios- 
som  (or  of  plant  when  it  has  no  blossom),  ordinary  height  or  length  of  plants  and  native 
country,  r.  designates  red,  pk.  J)JH^•,  w.  ichite.,  or.  orange,  pu.  purple,  y.  yellow,  cr.  cream, 
8.  or  sc.  scarlet,  p.  or  gr.  gree7i,  br.  brown,  li.  lilac,  loin,  lemoji;  ap.  means  apetnlous^  or 
flowerless.  The  months  am  designated  as  foUowi,  beginning  with  January  :  J.,  F.,  M.,  A., 
My.,Jn.,Jl.,Au.,  S.,  ()„N.,  D. 

Pr*  For  the  ^^Pronouncing  Key^  and  '•'' Alphal>etical  List  of  Authors  "  see  end  of 
the  volume. 


PAET   I. 
ELOCUTIONARY. 


I.  ELEMENTS  OF  ELOCUTION. 

INFLECTIONS. 

The  character  of  the  inflections,  or  slides  of  the  voice,  and  the  marks  used 
to  designate  them,  were  briefly  explained  in  the  Second  Header  of  this 


Instead  of  placing  the  marks  of  the  inflections  over  the  accented  syllables 
of  inflected  words,  or  over  the  emphatic  words,  as  most  writers  on  Elocution 
have  done,  we  have  generally  placed  them  at  the  end  of  the  inflected  word 
or  clause.  As  accent  and  emphasis  are  entirely  distinct  from  inflection, 
there  seems  to  be  no  good  reason  for  uniting  them ;  and,  indeed,  it  often 
happens  that  the  accented  syllable  of  a  word  is  not  the  one  which  is  inffect- 
ed.  Thus,  in  the  example,  "Did  he  answer  satis/actorily'?"  as  usually 
spoken,  the  voice  does  not  begin  to  rise  until  it  has  pronounced  the  accented 
syllable;  and  in  the  example,  "Did  he  resemble  his  yather',"  or  his 
7«other^  ?"  in  which  Dr.  Porter,  in  his  excellent  work,  places  the  inflection* 
over  the  accented  syllables  of  the  inflected  words,  it  is  very  certain  that  the 
closing  syllables  have  the  greatest  degree  of  inflection;  and  that,  in  the 
word  ",/atherV'  the  accented  syllable  is  not  inflected  at  all,  but  is  pro- 
nounced in  the  same  tone  as  the  preceding  part  of  the  sentence. 

As  an  emphatical  word  usually  bears  the  same  rhetorical  relation  to  the 
clause  in  which  it  is  placed  as  the  accented  syllable  does  to  the  word  of 
which  it  forms  a  part,  so  there  is  no  more  propriety  in  placing  the  mark  of 
inflection  over  an  emphatic  word  than  over  an  accented  syllable.  There- 
fore, in  the  following  examples. 

Did  he  show  ccrmpasmon  for  me'  ? 
To  what  place  shall  I  betake  myseir  ? 

we  would  place  the  inflections  at  the  close  of  the  sentences.  We  thus  avoid 
confounding  emphasis  with  inflection,  an  error  which  has  led  many  learn- 
ers astray ;  and  if  we  emphasize  the  words  "  compassion"  and  "betake,"  we 
shall  be  sure  to  give  them  the  right  tone  if  we  keep  in  view  the  inflections 
at  the  close. 

We  would  give  the  following  rules  for  the  position  of  the  marks  of  inflec- 
tion: 

Ist.  When  the  entire  rising  or  downward  slide,  or  much  the  greater  part 
of  it,  occurs  on  an  emphatic  word,  and  is  not  continued  to  the  end  of  the 
clause  or  sentence,  the  mark  may  be  placed  at  the  end  of  such  inflected 
word,  as: 

I  dare'^  accusation.    I  defy""  the  honorable  gentleman. 

2d.  When  the  rising,  or  the  downward  slide,  wherever  it  occurs,  is  con- 


12  WILLSON's  fifth   reader.  Part  I. 

tinned  to  the  end  of  a  clause,  so  that  the  greatest  rise  or  fall  is  at  the  end, 
the  mark  should  be  placed  at  the  end,  as  in  the  following  : 

Charity  envieth  not^ ;  charity  vmmteih  not  itself  ;  ia  not  puflfed  up\ 

In  this  example  the  downward  slide  begins  at  en,  vaun,  and  is,  and  is  con- 
tinued to  the  end  of  each  member  respectively,  where  is  the  greatest  extent 
of  the  slide. 

A  very  satisfactory  reason  for  placing  the  mark  of  inflection  at  the  end 
of  "not,"  rather  than  over  the  accented  syllable  of  "e?jvieth,"  is,  that  it  is 
a  guide  to  the  correct  pronunciation  of  the  sentence  in  the  former  case,  but 
no  guide  at  all  in  the  latter  case ;  for  if  it  be  placed  over  "envieth,"  the  end 
of  the  sentence  may,  nevertheless,  have  the  rising  inflection,  as  in  the  ex- 
ample : 

Charity  envieth  not' ;  but  is  kindly  disposed  to  all\ 

Here  envieth  is  pronounced  the  same  as  in  the  former  case,  and  yet  the 
rising  inflection  is  required  at  the  end  of  the  clause,  while  the  downward 
inflection  is  required  in  the  former  case.  For  the  ynark  to  be  a  correct  gmde^ 
it  must  be  placed  at  the  end  of  the  clause  in  both  cases. 

ELEMENTARY  RULES. 

'•'•  Speak  clearlji^  if  you  gpeak  at  all ; 
Carve  every  word  before  you  let  it  fall ; 
Don't,  like  a  lecturer  or  dramatic  star, 
Try  over  hard  to  roll  the  l'.riti:^h  K ; 
Do  put  your  accents  in  the  proper  ppot ; 
Don't— let  me  beg  you— don't  way  "■  How?"  for  "  What?" 
And  when  you  ntick  on  conversation'H  burs. 
Don't  strew  the  patlxway  with  thoee  dreadful  Mrs." — O.  W.  Holmes. 

Rule  I. — Direct  questions,  or  those  that  can  be  answered  by  yes  or  no, 

generally  require  the  rising  inflection,  and  their  answers  the  falling. 

ExAMPEBS.— Do  you  think  he  will  come  to-day'  ?  No^ ;  I  think  he  will  not \— Was  that 
Henry'  ?  No^ ;  it  was  John\— Did  you  see  William'  ?  Yes^  I  did'. — Are  you  going  to 
town  to-day'  ?    No\  I  shall  go  to-morrow\ 

MODinCATIOXS   OF   RULE   I. 

Note  I. — Answers  that  are  given  in  a  careless  or  indifferent  manner,  or 
in  a  tone  of  slight  disrespect,  take  the  rising  inflection  in  all  cases. 

Examples.— Did  you  see  William'  ?  I  did'. — What  did  he  say  to  you^  ?  Not  much'. 
See,  also,  Lesson  11.,  p.  33,  of  frecond  Reader. 

Note  II. — Direct  questions,  when  they  have  the  nature  of  an  appeal,  or 
are  spoken  in  an  exclamatory  manner,  take  ihe  falling  inflection.  In  these 
cases  the  voice  often  falls  below  the  general  pitch,  contrary  to  the  general 
rule  for  the  falling  inflection. 

Examples.— ia  not  that  a  beautiful  sight^?— FtK  you  persist  in  doing  it'  ?— J«  it  right'  ? 

— /«itjU3t'? 

Was  ever  woman  in  this  humor  wooed'  ? 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humor  won'  ? 

Note  III. — When  a  direct  question  is  not  understood,  and  is  repeated 
with  emphasis,  the  repeated  question  takes  the  falling  inflection. 

Examples.— Will  you  npenk  to  him  to-day'  ?  If  the  question  i?  not  understood,  it  Is  re- 
peated with  the  falling  inflection,  thus  :  Will  you  speak  to  Idra  to-day'?— Are  you  going 
to  Salem'  ?    I  said.  Are  you  going  to  Salem'  ? 

Rule  TI. — The  pause  of  siutfiension,  denoting  that  the  sense  is  unfinished, 


Part  I.  ELOCUTIONAKY.  13 

such  as  a  succession  of  particulars  that  are  not  emphatic,  cases  of  direct  ad- 
dress, sentences  implying  condition,  the  case  absolute,  etc.,  generally  re- 
quires the  rising  inflection. 

ExASiPLES.— John',  James',  and  William',  come  he^— The  great',  the  good',  the  hon- 
ored', the  noble,'  the  wealthy,  alike  pass  away. 
Friends',  Komans',  countrymen',  lend  me  your  ears. 
Jesus  saith  unto  him,  Simon',  son  of  Jonas',  lovest  thou  me'  ? 

Ye  hills',  and  dales',  ye  rivers',  woods',  and  plains', 
And  ye  that  live  and  move,  fair  creatures',  telP, 
Tell,  if  ye  saw,  how  came  I  thus^ ;  how  here^  ? 

Note. — For  cases  in  which  emphatic  succession  of  particulars  modifies 
this  rule,  see  Rule  VIII. 

Rule  III. — Indirect  questions,  or  those  which  can  not  be  answered  by 
yes  or  no,  generally  require  the  falling  inflection,  and  their  answers  the 
same. 

Examples. — When  did  you  see  him^  ?  Yesterday \—WTien  will  he  come  again^  ?  To- 
morrow\ 

^Vho  say  the  people  that  I  am^  ?  They  answering,  said,  John  the  Baptist^ ;  hut  some 
say  Elias^ ;  and  others  say  that  one  of  the  old  prophets^  is  risen  again. 

Note. — But  when  the  indirect  question  is  one  asking  a  repetition  of  what 
was  not  at  first  understood,  it  takes  the  rising  inflection.  "What  did  he 
say^  ?"  is  an  indirect  question,  with  the  falling  inflection,  asking  for  inform- 
ation. But  if  I  myself  heard  the  person  speak,  and  did  not  fully  under- 
stand him,  and  then  ask  some  person  to  repeat  what  he  said,  I  give  my 
question  the  rising  inflection,  thus,  ^'Whaf  did  he  say'?"  (Remark. — 
Perhaps  the  true  reason  of  the  rising  inflection  here  on  the  word  say  is 
because  it  is  preceded  by  an  emphatic  word  (what)  with  the  falling  inflec- 
tion.    See  note  to  Rule  IV. ) 

Rule  IV, — A  completion  of  the  sense,  whether  at  the  close  or  any  other 
part  of  the  sentence,  requires  the  falling  inflection. 

Examples. — He  that  saw  me'  saw  you  also^  and  he  who  aided  me  once'  will  aid  me 
again.  ■* 

In  the  beginning,  God  created  the  heavens  and  the  earth\  And  the  earth  was  without 
form,  and  vc' J' ;  and  darkness  was  on  the  face  of  the  deep^ :  and  the  spirit  of  God  moved 
upon  the  face  of  the  waters,  ■* 

Note. — But  when  strong  emphasis,  with  the  falling  inflection,  comes  near 
the  close  of  a  sentence,  the  voice  ofteu-  takes  the  rising  inflection  at  the 
close. 

Examples.— If  William  does  not  come,  I  think  JohrC'  will  be  here'. — If  he  should  come, 
wJiat^  would  you  do'  ? 

•Cassixjs.  What  night  is  this  ? 

Casca.  a  very  pleading  night  to  honest^  men'. 

Proceed\  I  am  attentive'. 

This  is  the  course  rather  of  our  enemies,  than  of  friends''  of  our  coimtry's  liberty.' 

If  the  witness  does  not  believe  in  God,  or  a  future  state,  you  can  not  siuear^  him'. 

Rule  V. — Words  and  clauses  connected  by  the  disjunctive  or,  generally 
require  the  rising  inflection  before  the  disjunctive,  and  the  falling  after  it. 
Where  several  words  are  thus  connected  in  the  same  clause,  the  rising  inflec- 
tion-is given  to  all  except  the  last. 

Examples.— Will  you  go'  or  stay^  ?  I  will  go\— Will  you  go  in  the  buggy',  or  the  car- 
riage', or  the  cars',  or  the  coach'  ?    I  will  go  in  the  cars\ 

He  may  study  law',  or  medicine',  or  divinity' ;  or',  he  may  enter  into  trade'. 
The  baptism  of  John,  was  it  from  heaven',  or  of  men'  ? 


14  willson's  fifth  beadee.  Pakt  I. 

Did  he  travel  for  health',  or  for  pleasure^  ? 
Did  he  resemble  his  father',  or  his  motiier'  ? 

Note  I. — When  the  disjunctive  or  is  made  emphatic,  with  the  falling 
inflection,  it  is  followed  by  the  rising  inflection,  in  accordance  with  the 
note  to  Rule  IV.;  as,  "Hfe  must  have  traveled  for  health,  or''  pleas- 
ure'." 

Examples.— He  must  either  work''^  or^  study', — He  must  be  a  mechanic,  or^  a  lawyer', 
— He  must  get  iiis  living  in  one  way,  or^  the  other'. 

Note  II. — When  or  is  used  conjunctively/,  as  no  contrast  is  denoted  by 
it,  it  requires  the  rising  inflection  a/ier  as  well  as  before  it,  except  when 
the  clause  or  sentence  expresses  a  completion  of  the  sense. 

Example.— Did  he  give  you  money',  or  food',  or  clothing'  ?    No\  he  gave  me  nothlng\ 

Rule  VI. — "When  negation  is  opposed  to  affirmation,  the  former  takes  the 
rising  and  the  latter  the  falling  inflection,  in  whatever  order  they  occur. 
Comparison  and  contrast  (antithesis)  come  under  the  same  head. 

Examples. — I  did  not  hear  him',  I  saw  him\ — I  said  he  was  a  good  soldier \  not^  a  good 
citizen'. — He  will  not  come  to-day',  but  to-mon'ow\ — He  did  not  call  me',  but  you\ — He 
means  dutifuP,  not  undutiful'. — I  come  to  bury  Caesar^,  not  to  praise  him'. 

This  is  no  time  for  a  tribunal  of  justice',  but  for  showing  mercy' ;  not  for  accusation', 
but  for  philanthropy^ ;  not  for  trial',  but  for  pardon^ ;  not  for  sentence  and  execution', 
but  for  compassion  and  kindness  \ 

Comparition  and  Contrast. — Homer  was  the  greater  genius',  Virgil  the  better  artist* ; 
in  the  one  we  most  admire  the  man',  in  the  other  the  work\ — There  were  tyrants  at 
home',  and  robbers  abroad  \ 

By  honor'  and  dishonor' ;  by  evil  report'  and  good  report' ;  as  deceivers',  and  yet  true' ; 
as  unknown',  and  yet  well  known' ;  as  dying',  and  beliold  we  live' ;  as  chsistened',  and 
not  killed' ;  as  sorrowful',  yet  always  rejoicing' ;  as  poor',  yet  malung  many  rich' ;  aa 
having  nothing',  yet  possessing  all  things'. 

When  our  vices  leave  tw',  we  flatter  ourselves  we  leave  them\ 

The  prodigal  robs  his  heir'^  the  miser  robs  himself  ^ 

Note  I, — Negative  sentences  which  imply  a  continuance  of  thought,  al- 
though they  may  not  be  opposed  to  afiirmation,  frequently  close  with  the 
rising  inflection ;  as, 

True  politeness  is  not  a  mere  compliance  with  arbitrary  custom'. 
Do  not  suppose  that  1  would  deceive  you'. 
These  thiug^  do  not  make  your  government'. 

This  is  nearly  allied  in  character  to  Rule  IX.  ;  and  such  examples  as 
those  under  Note  I.  may  be  considered  as  expressive  of  tender  emotion,  in 
opposition  to  strong  emotion,  ^^^rmative  sentences  similar  to  the  fore- 
going require  the  rising  inflection,  in  accordance  with  Rule  IX.,  when 
they  express  tender  emotion  ;  as, 

I  trust  you  will  hear  me'.     I  am  sure  you  are  mistaken'. 

But,  sir,  the  poor  must  not  starve' ;  they  must  be  taken  care  of. 

Note  II. — When,  in  contrasted  sentences,  negation  is  attended  with 
deep  and  calm  feeling,  it  requires  the  falling  inflection. 
Example.— We  are  perplexed',  but  not  in  despair* ;  persecuted',  but  not  forBaken\ 

Rule  VII, — For  the  sake  of  variety  and  harmony,  the  last  pause  hut  c  je 

in  a  sentence  is  usually  preceded  by  the  rising  inflection. 

Examples.— The  minor  longs  to  be  of  age' ;  then  to  be  a  man  of  business' ;  then  to  ar- 
rive at  honors' ;  then  to  retire'. 
Time  taxes  our  health',  our  limbs',  our  faculties',  our  strength',  and  our  features*. 

Note. — The  foregoing  rule  is  sometimes  departed  from  in  the  case  of  an 
emphatic  succession  of  particulars,  for  which,  see  Rule  VIII. 


Pakt  I.  ELOCUTIONARY.  15 

In  the  second  preceding  example,  the  rising  inflection  is  given  to  the 
words  health,  limbs,  faculties,  and  strength,  both  because  they  are  not  attend- 
ed with  strong  emphasis,  and  because  they  are  followed  by  the  pause  of  sus- 
pension, in  which  the  mind  anticipates  a  continuation  of  the  sentence. 

EuLE  VIII. —  1st.  A  Commencing  Series. 

In  an  emphatic  series  of  particulars,  where  the  series  begins  the  sentence, 

but  does  not  either  end  it  or  form  complete  sense,  every  particular  except 

the  last  should  have  the  falling  inflection. 

Example. — Our  disordered  heart3\  our  guilty  pasf5ions\  our  violent  prejudices\  and 
misplaced  desires',  are  the  instruments  of  the  trouble  which  we  endure.     ■ 

2d.  A  Concluding  Series. 
When  the  series  ends  the  sentence,  or  forms  complete  sense,  every  par- 
ticular in  the  series,  except  the  last  but  one,  should  have  the  falling  inflec- 
tion ;  and,  indeed,  all  should  have  it,  if  the  closing  member  of  the  series  is 
of  suflBcient  length  to  admit  a  pause  with  the  rising  inflection,  before  the  end. 

Example. — Charity  suffereth  long',  and  is  kind^ ;  charity  envieth  not^ ;  charity  vaunt- 
eth  not  itself^;  is  not  puffed  up*;  doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly'';  seeketh  not  her 
own\'  is  not  easily  provoked' ;  thinketh  no  et'iT. 

Note. — The  degree  of  emphasis,  and  often  of  solemnity,  with  which  the 
successive  particulars  are  mentioned,  decides,  in  cases  of  the  pause  of  sus- 
pension Csee  Rule  II.),  whether  "the  rising  or  the  falling  inflection  is  to  be 
used.  Thus,  a  succession  of  particulars  which  one  reader  deems  unimpor- 
tant, will  be  read  by  him  throughout  with  the  rising  inflection,  while  an- 
other, feeling  more  deeply,  will  use  the  falling  inflection.     Thus : 

1.  The  birds  sing',  the  lambs  play',  the  grass  grows',  the  trees  are  green',  and  all  na- 
ture is  beautiful\ 

2.  The  blind  see^ ;  the  lame  walk^ ;  the  lepers  are  cleansed^ ;  the  deaf  hear^ ;  the  dead 
are  raised* ;  and  to  the  poor',  the  gospel  is  preached\ 

In  this  example  all  the  particulars  have  the  falling  inflection. 

The  first  line  in  Mark  Antony's  harangue  is  read  differently  by  equally 
good  readers ;  but  the  difference  arises  wholly  from  their  different  appre- 
ciation of  the  spirit  and  intention  of  the  speaker.     Thus  : 

Friends',  Romans',  countrymen',  lend  me  your  ears*  1 
Friends',  Romans',  countrymen^,  lend  me  your  ears^  ? 

If  Antony  designed  to  characterize  "countrymen"  with  peculiar  empha- 
sis, he  gave  it  the  falling  inflection,  otherwise  he  gave  the  word  no  greater 
prominence  than  the  preceding  words  "friends"  and  "Romans." 

Rule  IX. — Expressions  of  tender  emotion,  such  as  grief,  pity,  kindness, 
gentle  joy,  a  gentle  reproof,  gentle  appeal,  gentle  entreaty  or  expostulation, 
etc.,  commonly  require  a  gentle  rising  inflection. 
Examples.— Mary' !  Mary'  1  do*  not  do  so'. 

My  mother' !  when  I  learned  that  thou  wast  dead', 
Say*,  wast  thou  conscious'  of  the  tears'  I  shed'? 
Hovered  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorrowing  son', 
Wretch  even  then',  life's  journey  just  begun'? 
I  would  not  live  alway' ;  I  ask  not  to  stay, 
Where  stoi-m  after  storm  rises  dark  o'er  the  way' ; 
I  would  not  live  alway,  thus  fettered  by  sin' ; 
Temptation  without,  and  corruption  within' ; — 
la  JQUT  father'  well',  the  old  man'  of  whom  ye  spake'  f    Is  he'  yet  alive'  ? 


10  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pabt  I. 

Rule  X. — Expressions  of  strong  emotion,  such  as  the  language  of  ex- 
clamation (not  designed  as  a  question),  authority,  surprise,  distress,  denun- 
ciation, lamentation,  earnest  entreaty,  command,  reproach,  terror,  anger, 
hatred,  envy,  revenge,  etc.,  and  strong  affirmation,  require  the  falling  in- 
flection. 

Examples. — What  a  piece  of  work  is  man^ !  How  noble  in  reason'  I  how  infinite  in 
facilities* !  in  action',  how  like  an  angeP  !  in  apprehension',  how  like  a  GodM 

My  lords,  I  am  amazed' ;  yes,  my  lords,  I  am  amazed^  at  hia  Grace's  Bi)eech. 

Woe  unto  you  l^hari^^ees'  I     Woe  unto  you  Scribes^ ! 

You  blocks',  you  stones^you  worse  than  senseless  things' ! 

Go  to  the  ant^,  tliou  sluggard';  consider  her  ways,  and  be  wise\ 

JesuB  saith  unto  her,  Mary'.     She  turned  herself,  and  said  unto  him,  Rahboni^. 

I  tell  you,  though  7/ott\  though  all  the  w(yi-ld\  though  an  angel  from  /teocen'  should  de- 
clare the  truth  of  it,  I  could  not  believe  it. 

I  dare""  accusation.     I  tie///'  the  honorable  gentleman. 

I'd  rather  be  a  dog\  and  bay  the  mooii^  than  such  a  Roman'. 

Cas.'  O  ye  gods''  !  ye  gods'' !  must  I  endure  all  this'  ? 

Buu.  All  this?  ay\and  more''. 

Note. — When  exclamatory  sentences  become  questions  they  require  the 
rising  inflection. 

Examples. — What  are  yon  aajing' \— Where  are  you  going'! 

They  planted  by  your  care' !    No'  I  your  oppressions  planted  them  in  America'. 

THE  CIRCUMITLEX  OK  WAVE. 

Rule  XL — H3T50thetical  expressions,  sarcasm,  and  irony,  and  sentences 
implying  a  comparison  or  contrast  that  is  not  fully  expressed,  often  require 
a  union  of  the  two  inflections  on  the  same  syllable. 

Explanation. — In  addition  to  the  rising  and  falling  inflections,  there  is 
what  is  called  the  circumflex  or  wave^  which  is  a  union  of  the  two  on  the 
same  syllable.  It  is  a  significant  twisting  or  waving  of  the  voice,  generally 
first  downward  and  then  upward,  but  sometimes  the  reverse,  and  is  attend- 
ed with  a  sensible /)ro^racrio«  of  sound  on  the  syllable  thus  inflected.  It  is 
marked  thus:  ("")  as,  "I  may  possibly  go  to-morrow,  though  I  can  not  go 
to-day."     " I  did  it  myself,  sir.     Surprising'!     lotididitl" 

Examples.— If  the  righteous  scarcely  be  saved,  where  shall  the  ungodly  and  the  sinner 
appear  ? 

I  grant  you  I  was  d?)wn,  and  out  of  breath ;  and  so  was  he. 

And  but  for  these  vile  gTms,  he  would  himself'  have  been  a  soldier'. 

QuEKN.  Hamlet',  you  have  your  father  much  offended. 

Hamlet.  Madam',  ylhi  have  my  father  much  offended. 

SiivLOCK.  If  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it  will  feed  my  rn^Snge. 

Hath  a  dl'>g  money'  ?    Is  it  possible  a  ciir  can  lend  two  thousand  ducats'  ? 

They  tell  iis  to  be  moderate;  but  tMy^  tMy  are  to  revel  in  profusion. 

Yf>u  pretend  to  reason'  ?    You  don't  so  much  as  know  the  first  elements  of  reasoning. 

Note. — A  nice  distinction  in  sense  sometimes  depends  upon  the  right 
use  of  the  inflections. 

Examples — ''  I  did  not  give  a  sixpence'." 

"•  I  did  not  give  a  sixpence'." 

The  circumflex  on  sixpence  implies  that  I  gave  more  or  less  than  that 
sum  ;  but  the  falling  inflection  on  the  same  word  implies  that  I  gave  noth- 
ing at  nil. 

"Humo  snid  he  would  go  twenty  miles  to  hear  "Whltefield  preach," 
(hero  the  circumflex  implies  the  contrast),  "  but  he  would  take  no  pains  to 
hear  an  ordinary'  j)rcncher.'' 

'■'■  A  man  who  is  in  the  daily  uoe  of  ardent  spirits,  if  he  does  not  become  a  drfinknrd',  is 
in  danger  of  losing  his  health  and  character," 


Part  I.  ELOCUTIONARY.  1 7 

The  rising  inflection  on  the  closing  syllable  of  drunkard  would  pervert 
the  meaning  wholly,  and  assert  that,  in  order  to  preserve  health  and  char- 
acter, one  must  become  a  drunkard. 

"  The  dog  would  have  died  if  they  had  not  cut  off  his  head." 

The  falling  inflection  on  died  would  make  the  cutting  off  his  head  neces- 
sary to  saving  his  life, 

A  physician  says  of  a  patient,  "  He  is  better^"  This  implies  a  positive 
amendment.  But  if  he  says,  "He  is  bStter',''  it  denotes  only  a  partial 
and  perhaps  doubtful  amendment,  and  implies,  "  But  he  is  still  dangerous- 
ly sick." 

THE  MONOTONE. 
Rule  XII. — The  monotone,  which  is  a  succession  of  words  on  the  same 
key  or  pitch,  and  is  not  properly  an  inflection,  is  often  employed  in  passages 
of  solemn  denunciation,  sublime  description,  or  expressing  deep  reverence 
and  awe.  It  is  marked  with  the  short  horizontal  dash  over  the  accented 
vowel.  ^W  It  must  not  be  mistaken  for  the  long  sound  of  the  vowels,  as 
given  in  the  Pronouncing  Key. 

Examples.  —  And  one  cried  unto  another,  and  said,  Holy,  holy,  holy  ia  the  Lord  of 
hosts.     The  whole  efirth  is  full  of  his  gli'ry. 

Bljsging,  honor,  glory,  and  power  be  unto  him  that  sltteth  on  the  throne,  and  to  the 
Lamb  forever  and  over. 

In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the  night,  when  deep  sleep  falleth  on  men,  f^'ar  cfimo 
upon  me,  and  trJmbling  which  made  all  my  bones  to  shuke.  Then  a  spirit  p.ssed  before 
my  face  ;  the  hfiir  of  my  flCsh  stood  up.  It  stood  still,  but  I  could  not  disc.rn  the  form 
thereof:  an  Image  was  before  my  eyes,  there  was  silence,  and  I  heard  a  voice,  saying, 
Shidl  mortal  man  be  more  just  than  God  ?    Shall  a  mun  be  more  piire  than  his  Maker  ? 

EMPHASIS. 
Emphasis  is  a  forcible  stress  of  voice  upon  some  word  or  words  in  a  sen- 
tence on  account  of  their  significancy  and  importance.  Sometimes  it  mere- 
ly gives  prolonged  loudness  to  a  word,  but  generally  the  various  inflections 
are  connected  with  it.  Thus  it  not  only  gives  additional ^brce  to  language, 
but  the  sense  often  depends  upon  it. 

Examples. — I  did  not  say  he  struck  me';  I  said  he  struck  JoJm\ 

I  did  not  .say  ho  stntck  me  ;  I  said  he  pushed  me. 

I  did  not  say  hS  struck  me  ;  I  .=aid  Jo/vi  did. 

I  did  not  sdy  he  struck  me  ;  but  I  wrote  it. 

1  did  n6t  say  he  struck  me ;  but  John  said  he  did. 

He  that  can  not  bear  a  jest,  should  never  make^  one. 

It  is  not  so  easy  to  h'^ide  one's  faults  as  to  meiui  them. 

Cassius.  I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  f  r. 

Beutus.  You  liave^  done  that  you  shduld  be  sorry  for. 

(The  varied  eiFects  of  emphatic  stress  and  emphatic  inflection  are  so  fully 
shown  in  the  Reading  Lessons  of  all  the  Readers  as  to  need  no  further  il- 
lustration.) 


18  VVILLSON'S   fifth   reader.  1'abt  1 


II.  HIGHER  PRINCIPLES  OF  ELOCUTION. 

A  SERIES  OF  CONVERSATIONS, 

IN  WmOH  BOME  OF  THB  HIGHEB  PRINCIPLES  OF  ELOCUTION  AEB  DEVZLOFED. 

FIRST  EVENING. 

Analtsib. — Modifications  of  general  rules,  owing  to  the  great  variety  of  emotions,  paa- 
Bions,  and  feelings,  whicli  language  is  designed  to  express.  Direct  questions  whose  an. 
Bwers  take  the  rising  inflection.  Examples.  No  one  can  be  a  correct  reader  without  a 
correct  appreciation  of  what  he  reads.  When  good  readers  will  read  the  same  passage 
differently.  Questions  that  contain  an  appeal.  The  inflections  in  spoken  language.  ^Vhy 
printed  language  is  a  very  imperfect  representation  of  spoken  language.  Importance  of 
the  inflections  in  obscure  passages. 

Bernardo.  Weir,  Crito',  1  believe  we  agreed  to  devote  the  evenings  of 
this  week  to  an  examination  of  some  of  the  higher  principles  of  Elocution. 
At  what  point  shall  we  begin*  ? 

Crito.  As  I  have  met  with  some  difficulties  in  what  are  called  the  "Ele- 
ments of  Elocution,"  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  take  up  these  first. 

Bernardo.  By  all  means.  Let  us  know  what  these  difficulties  are,  that 
we  may  remove  them,  if  possible. 

Crilo.  In  the  first  place,  I  would  ask,  as  introductory,  why  there  should 
be  so  many  modifications,  by  way  of  notes  and  exceptions,  of  the  Rules  laid 
down  in  the  "  Elements  ?" 

Bernardo.  The  answer  is  very  easy.  It  is  owing  to  the  great  variety  of 
emotions,  passions,  and  feelings,  which  written  language  is  designed  to  ex- 
press. Plain  and  simple  language,  which  has  but  little  variety,  requires 
but  few  rules.  Thus,  in  the  case  of  plain  direct  questions,  without  emotion, 
if  the  answers  are  plain  and  simple  also,  they  will  in  all  cases  take  the  fall- 
ing inflection.  Look  at  the  examples  given  under  the  Notes  to  Rule  I.  Do 
you  not  see  that  all  of  them  are,  more  or  less,  the  language  of  passion  or 
emotion'  ? 

Crito.  I  had  not  thought  of  it  before ;  but  I  see  it  is  so.  I  suppose\ 
then',  the  reason  for  every  departure  from  Rule  I.,  in  the  case  of  direct 
questions,  is  to  be  found  in  the  nature  of  the  passion  or  feeling  which  is  de- 
signed to  be  expressed. 

Bernardo.  Exactly  so\  Depend  upon  it,  if  the  answer  to  a  direct  and 
simple  question  does  not  take  the  falling  inflection',  it  is  because  something 
more  than  a  plain  and  direct  answer  is  contained  in  the  reply. 

Crito.  I  was  puzzled,  a  few  days  ago,  to  find  a  ride  for  the  inflection 
which  I  heard  given,  in  a  jiolitical  debate,  to  several  answers  to  direct  ques- 
tions.    The  following  are  the  examples: 

Mr.  A.  Did  not  you  vote  for  Harrison'  ? 

Mr.  IL  To  be  sure  I  did' ;  but  has  that  any  thing  to  do  with  the  question'? 

Mr.  A.  Cortninly  it  has'.     Does  it  not  show  that  you  belong  to  the  llopublican  party'  ? 

Mr.  li.  Not  at  all,  sir'.  I  belonged  to  the  Whig  party  then\  and  I  advocate  the  same 
principles  noio\  Can  you  say  oa  much — that  you  bavo  not  changed  both  party  and  prin- 
ciples too'  ? 

Mr.  A.  Most  assOircdly  I  can'. 

Here  the  answers  take  the  rising  inflection ;  and  I  suppose  the  principle,  or 
rule,  is  to  be  found  in  the  first  Note  under  Rule  I. 

Bernardo.  Yon  are  correct.  The  answers  are  given  with  a  feeling,  and 
in  a  tone  of  self-assurance,  that  may  be  considei'ed  as  approaching  to 


Part  I.  ELOCUTIONAKY.  19 

"slight  disrespect."  Yet  this  style  becomes  monotonous  and  tiresome  if 
carried  too  far ;  and  I  think  it  would  have  been  better  if  Mr.  A.  had  drop- 
ped the  taunt  in  his  last  reply,  and  answered  in  a  tone  of  dignified  candor, 
which  would  have  required  the  falling  inflection  at  the  close.  You  will  find 
a  good  example  of  the  rising  inflection  required  in  the  answer  to  both  kinds 
of  questions  in  the  following  dialogue,  from  Shakspeare,  between  the  vil- 
lain lago  and  Othello.  Observe  Othello's  answer  with  the  rising  inflection, 
*'  He  did';''  also  the  efl*ect  of  the  assumed  indifterence,  or  pretended  careless 
absent-mindedness  of  lago,  in  giving  to  several  of  his  answers  the  rising  in- 
flection : 

logo.  My  noble  lord'— 

Othello.  What  dost  thou  say',i  lago'  ? 

lago.  Did  Michael  Cassio,  when  you  woo'd  my  lady,  know'  of  your  love'? 

Oih.  He  did',  from  first  to  lasf  :  wliy  dost  thou  ask"? 

lago.  But  for  a  satisfaction  of  my  thought' :2 
No  further  harm'. 

0th.  Wliy  of  thy  thought\  lago'? 

lago.  I  did  not  think  he  had  been  acquainted^  with  it. 

0th.  Oh'  ye3\  and  went  between  us  very  oft. 

lago.  Indeed'? 

oih.  IndeedM  ay,  indeedM3  Discern' st  thou  aught  in  that'? 
Is  he  not  honest'  ? 

lago.  Honest',  my  lord'  ? 

OtK  Ay,  honest\ 

lago.  My  lord,  for  aught  I  know'. 

0th.  What  dost  thou  thmk^  ? 

lago.  Think',  my  lord'  ? 

oih.  Think,  my  lord  ?    By  heaven  he  echoes  me 
As  if  there  were  some  monster  in  his  thoughts 
Too  hideous  to  be  shown. 

Crito.  How  much  the  beauty  of  such  a  piece  depends  upon  the  manner 
of  reading^  it !  One  can  almost  look  into  the  very  heart  of  Othello,  and 
see  the  first  awakening  of  a  suspicious  nature,  as,  startled  by  lago's  "In- 
deed' ?"  he  repeats  the  word  after  him  in  a  manner  that  indicates  how  eas- 
ily his  jealousy  may  be  fully  aroused. 

Bernardo.  Yes  ;  and  this  passage  from  Shakspeare  not  only  furnishes  a 
fine  illustration  of  the  principle  referred  to  in  Note  I.,  under  Rule  First,  but 
is  a  fine  reading  exercise  also,  on  account  of  other  nice  points  contained  in 
it.  Both  the  cunning  treachery  of  lago,  and  the  gradually  awakened  sus- 
picion in  the  breast  of  the  honest  Othello  of  a  something  wrong,  must  be 
fully  appreciated  by  one  who  would  read  the  passage  well.  Unpremedi- 
tated language  seldom  fails  to  give  a  truthful  expression  of  the  feelings ; 
but  when  we  read  this  language  of  another,  we  must  fully  enter  into  his  feel- 
ings if  we  would  as  truthfully  express  all  that  he  intended.  You  see\ 
therefore,  Crito',  that  in  order  to  read  Shakspeare  weU\  one  must  fully  en- 
ter into,  and  thoroughly  understand,  the  characters  represented. 

Crito.  This  gives  me  some  new  ideas  of  the  art  of  reading ;  for  it  ap- 
pears, from  what  you  s.ay,  that  if  we  would  correctly  express  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  another',  we  must  first  know  precisely  what  those  thoughts 
and  feelings  are^ ;  and  that  no  one  can  read  well',  unless  he  reads  under- 
standingly\  Truly,  this  view  of  the  subject,  while  it  shows  the  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  good  reading,  elevates  reading  to  the  dignity  of  one  of  the 
Fine  Arts.  But',  let  me  ask\  can  not  one  imitate  good  reading',  so  as  to 
read  correctly,  even  without  a  correct  understanding  of  what  he  reads? 

Bernardo.  To  some  extent  one  may ;  as  one  may  learn,  parrot-like,  to 

1  For  the  rising  inflection  to  "  say"  see  Note  to  Rule  III. 

«  Note  1  to  Rule  I.  3  Surprise :  Rule  X. 


20  WILLSON's  fifth  reader.  Part  I. 

*' 

utter  words  without  meaning.  But  such  a  person  could  never  be  sure  of 
reading  a  new  piece,  or  even  a  single  sentence,  correctly.  The  chief  rea- 
son why  so  many  are  poor  readers  is,  either  they  do  not  fully  understand 
what  they  read,  or  they  do  not  fully  enter  into  its  spirit  while  reading.  You 
may  lay  this  down  as  a  principle :  that  no  one  can  be  a  correct  reader  with- 
out a  correct  a/>preciatio7i  of  what  he  reads. 

Crito.  Then  I  should  suppose  that  if  two  persons  have  precisely  the  same 
understanding  of  a  passage,  both  ought  to  read  it  in  the  same  manner. 

Bernardo.  Certainly  they  ought,  in  all  important  particulars ;  and,  if 
they  read  it  differently — one,  for  example,  with  the  marked  rising  inflection 
where  the  other  uses  the  falling,  it  must  be  either  because  both  do  not  at- 
tach precisely  the  same  meaning  to  it,  or  because  one  of  them  reads  it  er- 
roneously. 

Crito.  And  yet  I  have  in  my  mind  an  example  of  a  direct  question  which 
I  have  heard  asked  with  the  falling  inflection  at  the  close,  and  which,  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  might  as  well  have  taken  the  rising  slide.  It  is  this.  One 
morning  William  was  told  by  his  father  that  he  must  do  a  certain  piece  of 
work  in  the  gai-den.  At  noon  he  was  again  reminded  that  the  work  must 
be  done,  when  William  asked,  "Must  the  work  be  done  to-day'?"  giving 
to  the  question  the  falling  inflection,  whereas  he  might  have  given  it  the 
rising.  But  if  the  same  question  may  be  asked  with  one  inflection  as  well 
as  with  the  other,  I  do  not  see  that  the  rule  is  of  any  use. 

Bernardo.  One  very  important  use  of  it,  and  of  the  notes  under  it,  is  to 
lead  you  to  notice  iv}iat  it  is  that  causes  the  falling  inflection  to  be  given  to 
the  question  in  this  particular  case,  in  violation  of  the  general  rule.  Did 
William  merely  ask  the  question  for  information'  ?  or  did  he  connect 
with  it  something  like  a  fretful  appeal  to  his  father  that  the  work  might  be 
deferred^  ?^ 

Crito.  The  latter,  I  suppose.  Do  you  mean  to  say,  then,  that  it  is  be- 
cause William's  question  had  in  it  "the  nature  of  an  appeal,"  that  it  takes 
the  falling  inflection,  in  opposition  to  the  general  rule'? 

Bernardo.  That  is  precisely  what  I  mean.  Nature  has  adopted  the  fall- 
ing inflection  in  this  case  to  show  that  the  question  contains  this  appeal. 
The  rising  inflection  would  not  have  shown  it.  You  can  try  it,  and  you 
will  nt  once  see  the  diflerence. 

Crito.  But  if  I  find  this  same  question  in  a  book,  how  do  I  know,  from 
the  mere  words  (as  they  are  the  same  in  one  case  as  in  the  other),  whether 
William  spoke  it  jileasantly',  or  fretfully'  ?* 

Bernardo.  We  do  not  always  know,  unless  the  mark  of  inflection  is  given 
as  a  guide.  In  spoken  language,  the  inflections  in  such  cases  are  always 
correctly  used,  even  by  children  ;  and  they  arc  always  correctly  understood 
by  the  hearer. 

Crito.  Then  why  should  they  not  be  used  in  written  or  printed  lan- 
guage' ?  Would  not  the  language  thereby  more  plainly  express  the  mean- 
ing intended'  ? 

Bernardo.  Without  doubt  it  would ;  and  if  Shakspearc,  throughout  all 
his  plays,  had  marked  the  inflections  as  he  wished  the  passages  spoken,  he 
would  have  made  all  his  characters  so  well  understood  tliat  the  critics 
would  have  been  saved  a  groat  amount  of  controversy.  Our  printed  lan- 
guage is,  at  the  best,  a  very  imperfect  representation  of  spoken  language. 

»  Pee  I^ile  V.,  also  Kule  III.,  for  the  downward  slide  here,  as  the  queation  dues  not  ad- 
mit a  categorical  auswer,  yed  or  no. 


Pakt  I.  ELOCUTIONAKY.  21 

To  be  any  thing  like  perfect,  it  must  represent  not  only  the  icords  general- 
ly, but  .gjl  their  varied  modulations,  tones,  and  inflections,  accent,  and  em- 
phasis, and  a  great  variety  of  rhetorical  pauses  which  now  are  not  desig- 
nated at  all.  Some  of  these  things,  indeed,  are  not  essential  to  a  correct 
understanding  of  the  meaning  of  printed  language,  however  much  they 
would  exemplify  its  force  and  beauty ;  but  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  it  would 
be  better  if  the  injleciions  at  least  were  inserted  in  all  cases  where  their 
omission,  as  in  the  example  of  William's  answer,  renders  the  sense  obscure. 
No  valid  objection  could  be  made  to  so  small,  and,  at  the  same  time,  so  ijse- 
ful  an  innovation  as  this.     More  than  this  would,  perhaps,  be  undesirable. 

SECOND  EVENING. 

Analysis. — The  paitpe  of  suspension,  with  the  rising  or  the  falling  slide.  A  prolonged 
horizontal  suspension  of  the  voice.  Rhetorical  pauses,  as  distingiiirihed  from  grammatical 
or  sentential  pauses.  The  rhetorical  pause  proi)er :  when  used,  and  its  effect.  Exam- 
ples:  Patrick  Henry's  speech — the  Eaii  of  Chatham — Dr.  Nott — Pope.  Other  cases  of 
pause  where  none  is  allowed  in  the  grammatical  construction.  The  rhetorical  pause  used 
in  cases  of  contrast.  Example  from  (Jicero — from  Dr.  Blair.  A  contrast  in  sentiment 
requires  contrast  in  voice.  Prolonged  utterance  of  words  in  certain  cases.  Proper  man- 
agement of  the  voice. 

Crito.  Since  our  last  conversation,  I  have  been  examining  the  Second 
Rule  in  connection  with  the  Eighth,  and  I  find  it  stated  that  in  certain 
cases  the  pause  of  suspension  takes  the  rising  inflection,  and  in  others  the 
falling.  It  has  occurrect  to  me  that  there  might  be  a  pause  of  suspension 
that  takes  neither  the  rising  nor  the  falling  slide,  but  I  have  found  no  no- 
tice of  such.  Is  not  such  a  pause  frequently  used  in  I'eading  or  speaking? 
— a  kind  of  prolonged  //on;jow<a/ suspension  of  the  voice'? 

Bernardo.  There  is,  indeed,  such  a  pause — a  rhetorical  pause  proper  it 
should  be  called ;  and  a  judicious  use  of  it  is,  next  to  a  correct  use  of  the 
inflections,  one  of  the  greatest  beauties  in  reading.  The  hyphen  or  dash  ( — ) 
sometimes  indicates  it,  but  not  always;  and  the  dash,  moreover,  is  used 
with  both  kinds  of  inflections. 

Crito.  Are  not  all  the  pauses — such  as  the  comma,  colon,  semicolon,  and 
the  marks  of  interrogation  and  exclamation,  rhetorical  pauses'  ? 

Bernardo.  With  the  exception  of  the  marks  of  interrogation  and  excla- 
mation, I  should  say  they  are  not,  properly  speaking,  as  their  primary  ob- 
ject is  to  mark  the  divisions  of  a  sentence,  and  show  its  grammatical  con- 
struction. I  should  call  them  grammatical  or  sentential  pauses.  Moreover, 
these  pauses  are  so  far  from  being  sufficient  or  accurate  guides  to  the  reader, 
that  an  obsequious  attention  to  them  is  one  cause  of  the  heavy,  monoto- 
nous style  of  reading  into  which  most  persons  fall,  and  Avhich  it  is  so  diffi- 
cult to  correct.  The  marks  of  interrogation  and  exclamation,  the  parenthe- 
sis, and  the  hyphen  or  dash,  however,  are  wholly  rhetorical,  as  they  denote 
no  grammatical  relation,  and  have  no  established  length.  The  rhetorical 
pause  proper,  which  is  sometimes,  but  not  always,  denoted  by  the  hyphen, 
is  perhaps  the  only  one  of  these  that  requires  any  special  attention. 

Crito.  I  would  like  to  know  more  of  the  character  of  this  rhetorical  pause, 
and  the  principles  on  which  it  is  based.  Will  you  explain  it,  and  give  me 
some  examples  of  its  use'  ? 

Bernardo.  The  rhetorical  pause  proper  is  used,  first,  where  there  is  an 
abrupt  suspension  of  the  line  of  thought,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  place  to 
some  new  suggestion  ;  atid,  secondly,  it  is  used  either  before  or  after  some- 
thing very  striking  or  significant  is  uttered.  In  the  latter  case,  the  eiFect 
is,  by  holding  the  hearer  momentarily  in  suspense,  suddenly  to  arrest  his  at- 


22  W1LLS0N*S   FIFTH    READER.  Part  I. 

tention,  for  the  purpose  of  directing  it  with  greater  force  to  the  emphatic 
word  or  clause. 

Crito.  I  think,  from  your  description,  it  is  this  pause  which  I  have  heard 
appropriately  used  in  the  concluding  sentence  of  Patrick  Henry's  famous 

speech : 

I  know  not  what  course  others  may  takc\  but  as  for  me,"  give  me  liberty,"  or  give  me" 
death' ! 

Bernardo.  This  is  coiTect.  Here  this  pause  is  used  three  times,  but  with 
the  greatest  force  before  the  closing  emphatic  word — ^^ death.'"  Another 
fine  exjimple  of  it  is  found  in  the  Earl  of  Chatham's  speech  on  the  repeal 
of  the  Stamp  Act.  He  is  reported  to  have  spoken  as  follows,  alluding  to 
the  ministry  who  had  been  opposed  to  the  repeal : 

Some  of  them  have  done  me  the  honor  to  ask  my  poor  opinidl  before  they  would  en- 
gage to  repeal  the  act.  Tliey  will  do  me  the  justice  to  own  I  did  advise  them  to  engage 
to  do  it ;~  but,  notwithstanding,  for  I  love  to  be  explicit,  I  can  not  give  them  my  con- 
fidence.    I'ardon  me,  gentlemen,   confidence    is  a  plant  of  slow  growth. 

Here  this  rhetorical  pause  is  used  several  times,  in  some  instances  in  con- 
nection with  the  grammatical  pauses ;  but  the  one  which  is  the  most  mark- 
ed of  all  is  used  where  no  other  pause  is  designated.  The  concluding 
words,  after  this  pause,  are  to  be  spoken  slowly,  and  with  marked  emphasis. 

Crito.  I  recollect  a  passage  in  Rev.  Dr.  Nott's  discourse  on  the  death  of 
Hamilton  which  requires  a  similar  rhetorical  pause  in  reading.  I  allude 
to  the  following: 

I  would  uncover  the  breathless  corpse  of  Hamilton,"  I  would  lift  from  his  gaping  wound 
his  bloody  mantle,  I  would  hold  it  up  to  heaven  before  them,  and  I  would  ask — in  the 
name  of  God  I  would  ask — whether  at  the  siglit  of  it"  they  felt  no  compunction. 

Here,  evidently,  great  force  is  given  to  the  concluding  words  by  a  pro- 
tracted rhetorical  pause  after  the  emphatic  pronoun  it. 

Bernardo.  Let  me  give  one  example  more,  which  is  from  Pope's  Essay 
on  Man :   . 

Know  then  thyself^ :  presume^not  God  to  ecan^ : 
The  proper  study  of  mankind    ia  man\ 

As  intimately  connected  with  this  subject,  I  would  remark  that  good  read- 
ers often  give  a  slight  rhetorical  pause,  or  rest,  in  some  other  cases  also, 
where  no  pause  is  designated,  and  where  none  is  allowed  in  the  gram- 
matical construction.  Especially  does  this  occur  where  the  speaker  would 
fix  attention  on  a  single  word  that  stands  as  immediate  nominative  to  a 
verb,  and  also  in  antithetic  or  contrasted  clauses.  Thus,  as  an  example  of 
the  first : 

/Some"  place  the  bliss  In  action,  some~  in  ease; 

Those   call  it  pleasure,  and  contentment  these. 

Every  good  reader  will  suspend  the  voice  briefly,  after  each  of  these  em- 
phatic words,  although  no  punctuation  mark  is  found  there. 

Crito.  You  mentioned  antithetic  or  contrasted  clauses  also.  I  observe 
that  in  some  of  the  examples  of  "Comparison  and  Contrast,"  under  the 
Sixth  Rule,  the  same  kind  of  pause  is  made,  even  where  none  is  required 
in  the  grammatical  construction.  Thus  I  observe  it  after  the  words  "  Ho- 
mer," "Virgil,"  "the  one,"  "the  other,"  etc. 

Bernardo.  I  find  a  still  better  example  in  one  of  Cicero's  orations,  in 
wliich  the  orator  is  s])enking  of  Pompey.  In  order  to  show  the  contrasted 
parts  distinctly,  it  is  desirable  to  make  a  longer  pause  between  them  than 
if  there  were  no  opposition  in  the  sense.     Thus : 

He  waged  more  wart''  than  others  had  resd^ ;  conquered  more  provinces'"  than  others 


Part  I.  ELOCUTIONAKY.  23 

had  governed^ ;  and  had  been  trained  up  from  his  youth  to  the  art  of  war^ ;  not  by  the 
precepts  of  others',"  but  by  hisown  commands^ ;  not  by  miscarriages  in  the  field',  "but  by 
victories \'  not  by  campaigns',"  but  by  triumphs^ 

Here  a  pause  of  some  length  is  required  after  ivars,  provinces,  others,  etc. 
I  am  tempted  to  give  one  more  example,  which  I  select,  not  only  for  its  ap- 
propriateness in  illustrating  the  principle  under  consideration,  but  also  for 
the  beauty  of  the  sentiment.     It  is  from  Blair's  sermon  on  Gentleness  : 

As  there  is  a  Avorldly  happiness  which  God  perceives  to  be  no  more  than  disguised  mis- 
ery'; as  there  are  worldly  honors  which  in  his  estimation  are  reproach',  so  there  is  a 
woi'ldly  wisdom  which  in  his  sight  is  foolishness.  Of  this  worldly  wisdom  the  characters 
are  given  in  the  Scriptures,  and  placed  in  contrast  with  tliose  of  the  wisdom  which  is  from 
above.  The  one"  is  the  wisdom  of  the  crafty',  the  other"  that  of  the  upright';  the  one 
terminates  in  selfishness',  the  other  in  charity' ;  the  one  is  full  of  strife  and  bitter  envy- 
ings',  the  otlier   of  mercy  and  of  good  fruits. 

Here  the  first  two  clauses  should  be  pronounced  in  a  somewhat  elevated 
tone  of  voice ;  then,  after  a  somewhat  protracted  pause  at  reproach,  the 
voice  should  drop  into  a  lower  tone,  with  a  slower  pronunciation.  The 
first  members  of  the  contrasted  parts  should  be  pronounced  in  a  higher  tone 
than  tne  latter  members.  It  may  be  well  to  recollect  that  this  rule  should 
be  observed  in  all  antithetic  or  contrasted  clauses.  A  contrast  in  senti- 
ments' requires  contrast  in  voiced 

Crito.  Very  nearly  allied  to  the  kind  of  pause  which  we  have  been  con- 
sidering seems  to  be  that  prolonged  pronunciation  which  good  readers  some- 
times give  to  a  word,  without  actually  pausing  after  it.  I  have  noticed 
this  especially  in  the  following  beautiful  extract  from  Pope,  where  the  poet 
is  speaking  of  the  soul  of  God  as  seen  throughout  all  nature. 

Warmj"  in  the  sun,  refreshes"  inthe  breeze, 
Glows    in  the  stars,  and  blossoms    in  the  trees, 
Lives    through  all  life,  extends    through  all  extent, 
Spreads    undivided,  operates"  unspent. — Pope. 

Bernardo.  You  have  selected  a  fine  illustration  of  an  important  prin- 
ciple. If  we  will  notice  our  own  conversation,  or  listen  to  any  extempore 
speaking  in  which  nature  is  followed,  we  shall  find  that  while  some  words 
and  clauses,  apparently  used  as  mere  connectives,  are  quickly  passed  over, 
others,  of  more  importance,  are  prolonged  in  the  pronunciation.  The  prop- 
er management  of  the  voice  in  this  respect,  so  as  to  give  to  every  word  just 
the  degree  of  importance  to  which  it  is  entitled,  is  another  of  the  beauties 
of  good  reading.  The  ways  in  which  the  voice  manages  to  express  every 
possible  variety  of  thought  are  almost  numberless.  We  can  represent  but 
few  of  them  to  the  eye. 

THIRD  EVENING. 

Analysis. — Indirect  questions  that  take  the  rising  inflection.  First  example — not  a 
completed  sentence.  Deceptive  examples,  which  have  the  falling  inflection,  although 
they  appear  to  have  the  rising.  The  questions  completed  in  these  examples.  The  rising 
inflection  at  the  close  of  sentences  :  explained  on  tlie  principle  of  the  ordinary  pause  of 
suspension.  The  pause  of  suspension  in  inverted  sentences.  The  rising  inflection  in 
cases  of  gentle  entreaty  or  expostulation.  Negation  and  affirmation.  On  what  the  in- 
flections depend.     They  are  -natural  signs  of  thought. 

Bernardo.  If  you  have  met  with  any  more  points  of  difficulty\  Crito', 
which  relate  to  the  Rules  laid  down  in  the  "Elements, "if  you  will  bring 
them  forward,  we  will  consider  them  this  evening;  for  there  are  some  new 
principles  to  which  I  wish  to  call  your  attention  in  our  subsequent  conver- 
sations. 

Crito.  I  shall  be  very  glad,  indeed,  to  have  a  few  difficulties  removed, 


24  WILLSON'S   FIPTH    KEADER.  Part  I. 

if  it  can  be  done.  To  begin,  then :  I  have  found  several  examples  of  in- 
direct questions  which  I  can  not  reconcile  with  Rule  Third.  Thus,  in  the 
following : 

Question.  Will  he  go'? 
Ans.  I  think  it  doubtfur. 
Question.  Why  not'  ? 

The  last  question  here  is  indirect ;  that  is,  it  can  not  be  answered  by  yes 
or  no,  and  yet  it  is  evident  to  me  that  it  takes  the  rising  inflection.  'I'do 
not  see  that  cither  the  Rule',  or  the  Note\  provides  for  a  case  of  this  kind. 
Can  you  explain  it'  ? 

Bernardo.  I  think  you  yourself  will  discover,  by  a  little  reflection,  that 
the  example  does  not,  in  reality,  violate  the  Rule.  You  will  observe  that 
the  answer,  "Why  not'?"  is  not  a  completed  sentence.  AVhat  would  the 
answer  be  if  completed^  ? 

Crito.  Indeed,  I  did  not  think  of  that ;  but  I  can  explain  it  now.  The 
complete  answer  is,  "  Why  will  he  not'  go7"  which  has  the  falling  inflection. 

Bernardo.  Yes,  you  have  given  the  correct  explanation — partially  so, 
at  least.  In  nearly  all  cases  the  falling  inflection  ber/lns  at  a  point  higher 
than  the  key-note ;  and  in  this  case  it  strikes  the  word  "not"  on  a  high 
key,  preparatory  to  its  downward  slide.  As  soon  as  the  voice  strikes  it, 
however,  it  begins  to  fall ;  and,  if  I  were  to  be  critically  correct,  I  should 
perhaps  say  this  ver}'  word  *'  not"  is  pronounced  with  the  falling  inflection. 
I  admit  that  it  appears  to  have  the  rising  slide.  In  the  word  "  doiibtfur," 
in  the  same  example,  we  find  a  parallel  case,  for  the  first  syllable  of  it  is 
struck  on  a  high  key,  and  might,  with  the  same  propriety  as*  in  the  case  of 
the  word  "not,"  have  received  the  rising  inflection. 

Crito.  But  I  have  still  another  kind  of  indirect  question,  which  I  think 
can  not  be  explained  in  this  way.  It  is  the  following,  which  I  recently  heard 
an  eloquent  divine  read,  giving  the  rising  inflection  to  all  the  questions : 

IIow,  then,  shall  they  call  on  him  in  whom  they  have  not  believed'  ?  and  how  ehall  they 
believe  in  him  of  whom  they  have  not  heard'  ?  and  how  shall  they  hear  without  a  preach- 
er' ?  and  how  shall  they  preach  except  they  be  sent'  ? 

Now,  although  these  questions  inai/  be  read  with  the  falling  slide,  yet  it 
seems  very  evident  that  they  may  also  be  read  with  the  rising,  with  equal 
propriety. 

Bernardo.  And  yet  I  think  it  may  be  maintained,  with  very  good  reason, 
that  all  these  questions,  even  as  you  have  read  them,  take  the  falling  slide 
in  the  closing  syllable,  the  voice  merely  striking  the  closing  words  at  a  high 
pitch,  and  then  immediately  falling.  The  word  "preacher"  is  pronounced, 
in  the  example  given,  in  a  manner  very  diflerent  from  what  it  is  in  the  fol- 
lowing example,  '*  Is  he  a  preacher'  ?"  As  the  latter  is  plainly  the  rising  in- 
flection, it  may  well  be  doubted  if  the  former  is. 

Crito.  I  perceive  a  difference ;  and  yet  I  think  most  persons  would  con- 
sider that  the  examples  given  have  the  rising  inflection.  The  voice  certain- 
ly rises  very  high  to  strike  the  closing  words ;  and  its  downward  slide,  if 
there  be  any,  is  scarcely  perceptible. 

Bernardo.  If  we  should  admit  that  these  questions  may  be  pronounced 
with  the  rising  inflection  as  well  as  with  the  falling,  then  i  should  say  that 
iha  precise  meariinq,  or  the  force  of  the  expression,  can  not  be  the  same  in  both 
cases ;  and  this  brings  us  back  to  one  of  the  principles  which  we  establish- 
ed in  our  first  evening's  conversation — that,  "if  two  persons  have  the  same 
understanding  of  a  passage,  both  ought  to  read  it  in  the  same  manner.'' 

Crito.  But  I  do  not  see  that  this  principle  furnishes  any  reason  for  a  de- 


Fart  I.  ELOCUTIONARY.  25 

parture  from  the  Eule,  that  an  indirect  question  requires  the  falling  inflec- 
tion.    Are  not  the  examples  which  I  gave  indirect  questions'  ? 

Bernardo.  They  are,  assuredly ;  but  they  can  scarcely  be  said  to  be  com- 
plete questions  any  more  than  the  other  examples  which  puzzled  you.  Let 
me  change  the  form  a  little,  and  complete  the  question  in  each  case,  and  I 
think  you  will  admit  that  each  still  takes  the  falling  inflection  at  the  close, 
even  if  you  think  it  does  not  now. 

How  shall  they  call  on  him  if  they  have  not  believed'  what  is  said  concerning  him^  ?  and 
how  shall  they  believe  in  him  if  they  have  not  heard'  of  him^  ?  and  how  shall  they  hear 
without  a  preacher'  he  sent  to  them^  ?  and  how  shall  they  preach  except  they  be  sent'  for 
that  purpose^  ? 

Crito.  The  words  "believe,"  "heard,"  "preacher,"  and  "sent,"  which 
ended  the  several  questions  in  the  first  form  of  expression,  you^  have  made 
emphatic'. ' 

Bernardo.  They  were  also  made  emphatic  before ;  and  that  is  the  prin- 
cipal reason  why  the  divine,  whom  you  heard  read  them,  struck  them  on  so 
high  a  key  as  to  give  them  the  appearance  of  taking  the  rising  inflection. 
He  supposed  that  the  Apostle  Paul,  in  these  remarks,  wished  to  give  the 
gi'eatest  force  and  prominence  to  the  ideas  embraced  in  these  particular 
words ;  and  as  these  words  were  contained  in  the  class  of  indirect  ques- 
tions, which  naturally  end  with  the  falling  inflection,  it  was  only  by  strik- 
ing them  on  a  very  high  key  that  the  object  could  be  accomplished.  Hav- 
ing in  mind  this  view  of  the  apostle's  meaning,  nature  directed  him  how  to 
express  it.  Another  divine,  not  taking  the  same  view  of  the  passage,  would 
read  these  questions,  as  I  have  usually  heard  them  read,  with  the  falling  in- 
flection very  apparent.  You  will  please  remember  that  the  Third  Rule 
says,  "Indirect  questions  f7enfm%  require  the  falling  inflection." 

Crito.  And,  as  you  have  explained  the  examples  which  I  produced,  I  see 
that  even  they,  the  strongest  cases  which  I  could  find,  can  scarcely  be  Call- 
ed exceptions  to  the  Rule. 

Bernardo.  And,  what  is  of  still  greater  interest  and  importance,  these  ex- 
amples are  additional  testimony  in  confirmation  of  the  principle  that,  when 
different  readings  are  given  to  a  passage,  and  both  are  considered  correct, 
they  always  arise  from  somewhat  different  views  in  the  minds  of  the  read- 
ers. Are  there  any  other  points  which  you  would  like  to  take  up  at  this 
time'  ? 

Crito.  Since  our  last  conversation  I  have  found  several  cases  in  which 
the  rising  inflection  is  found  at  the  close  of  a  sentence  not  a  question,  and  I 
find  nothing  by  which  to  explain  this  apparent  opposition  to  Rule  Fourth. 
I  will  read  the  examples : 

1.  Then  said  Agrippa  unto  Festus',  This  man  might  have  been  set  at  liberty^  if  he  had 
not  appealed  unto  Cas  -ai-'. 

2.  Jngi-atitude  is,  therefore,  a  species  of  injustice\  said  Socrates.  I  should  think  so\ 
answered  Leander'. 

3.  Whence  arises  the  misery  of  this  present  world^  ?  It  is  not  owing  to  our  cloudy  at- 
mosphere', our  changing  seasons',  our  inclement  skies'.  It  is  not  owing  to  the  debility  of 
our  bodie3\  or  to  the  unequal  distribution  of  the  gifts  of  fortune\  It  is  owing  to  our  cor- 
rupt hearts\  our  sinful  natureH\ 

4.  If  we  have  no  regard  for  religion  in  youth^.,  we  ought  to  have' some  regard  for  it  in 
a(]e,>. 

5.  If  we  have  no  regard  for  our  oion  character\  we  ought  to  have  some  regard  for  the 
character  of  others.' 

1  Here  the  rising  slide  is  given  to  the  closing  word,  in  accordance  with  the  Note  to  Pule 
IV.     wSo,  also,  if  Crito  had  said,  "  Von''  have  made  emphatic' ;  but  P  did  not'."     Proba- 
.  bly  the  true  principle  which  controls  the  inflection  here  is  that  embraced  in  Rule  IX. 

B 


26  WILLSON'sS    fifth    liiSADFR.  Pakt  I. 

Bernardo.  For  a  solution  of  these  difficulties,  I  must  refer  you,  in  the  first 
place,  to  what  is  said  of  the  pause  of  stispension  under  Rule  Second, 

Crito.  I  confess  that  I  am  still  in  the  dark,  as  I  do  not  see  wherein  this 
rule  applies  to  the  examples  which  I  have  given. 

Bernardo.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  well  if  the  following  had  been  in- 
serted as  a  Note  explanatory  of  Rule  Second  :  Sentences  which  are  inverted 
inform^  often  bring  the  pause  of  suspension,  and  consequently  the  rising  inflec- 
tion, at  the  close,  thus  forming  an  apparent,  but  not  real,  exception  to  the  rule. 
Now  let  us  change  some  of  these  examples  back  to  their  more  simple  forms : 

1.  Then  said  Agrippa  unto  Festua,  If  this  man  had  not  appealed  unto  Csesar'  he  might 
have  been  set  at  liberty\ 

2.  Ingratitude  is  tlierefore  a  species  of  injustice^  said  Socrates.  Leander  answered',  I 
should  think  8o\ 

3.  Whence  arises  the  misery  of  this  present  world^  ?  It  is  not  owing  to  our  cloudy  at- 
mosphere', our  changing  seasons',  our  inclement  skiea' ;  but  it  is  owing  to  our  corrupt 
hearts\  our  sinful  natures'. 

Although  the  last  two  examples  which  you  gave  may  also  be  changed  so 
as  to  bring  the  falling  inflection  at  the  close,  yet,  without  this,  they  may  be 
explained  as  having  much  the  character  of  sentences  of  gentle  appeal^  re- 
proof, or  expostulation,  which  take  the  rising  inflection  in  accordance  with 
Rule  IX.,  and  with  what  is  said  of  both  negative  and  affirmative  sentences 
under  the  Note  to  Rule  VI.  I  will  give  you  one  or  two  examples,  quit(r 
similar  to  those  mentioned  by  you,  but  in  which  the  tone  of  "  gentle  en- 
treaty or  expostulation"  is  a  little  more  apparent : 

6.  But  he  answered  and  said,  It  is  not  meet  to  take  the  children's  bread,  and  to  ciist  it 
to  dngs'.  7.  But  she  said,  Truth',  Lord' :  yet  the  dwjs^  eat  of  the  crumbs  which  fall  from 
their  77ia8to-'s  table'.— Matt.,  xv.,  26-27. 

If  you  will  examine  closely  you  will  find  that  several  of  the  examples  given, 
especially  those  numbered  1, 3,  4,  5,  G,  and  7,  are  examples  in  which  negation 
is  opposed  to  affirmation ;  and  you  must  bear  in  mind  that,  although  the 
speaker  may  not  express  the  affirmative  part  of  the  sentence,  yet,  if  he  has 
it  in  his  mind,  he  will  give  to  the  negative  part  the  rising  inflection,  in  ac- 
cordance with  Rule  VI.  Thus,  if  I  speak  the  negative  sentence,  "  I  did  not 
say  he  was  a  good  citizen',''  and  give  it  the  rising  inflection,  I  thereby  show 
that  I  have  also  an  affirmative  declaration  in  my  mind. 

Crito.  I  must  confess  that  the  difficulties  which  troubled  me  have  been 
more  easily  removed  than  I  anticipated.  I  am  beginning  to  think  there  i:* 
more  science  and  true  philosophy  in  the  art  of  reading  than  is  usually  con- 
ceded. 

Bernardo.  You  will  find  this  philosophy  more  and  more  apparent  tho 
farther  you  proceed.  The  inflections  which  we  give  to  speech  deix'nd  wholly 
upon  the  sentiments  which  we  wish  to  express.  Being  designed  as  the  ex- 
ponents of  thought,  they  are  not  arbitrary  or  optional,  but  have  their  basis 
in  the  nature  of  speech  itself.  Words  are  but  arbitrary  signs  of  thought ; 
but  inflections,  especially  where  they  are  at  all  marked,  are  natural  signs, 
and  are  therefore  the  same  in  all  languages.  But  I  have  not  time  to  dwell 
upon  this  subject  hero,  although  it  is  one  that  has  been  wonderfully  over 
looked  by  our  best  elocutionists.  In  our  next  conversation  I  trust  we  shall 
be  able  to  enter  upon  an  examination  of  j)rinciplos  that  are  somewhat  in 
advance  of  the  Elementary  Rales  that  wc  have  thus  far  been  considering. 


Pabt  I.  ELOCUTIONARY.  27 


FOUKTH  EVENING. 

Analysis.— The  "Elements  of  Elocution"  treat  chiefly  of  the  pronunciation  of  toordfi 
rather  than  of  sentences.  The  various  modulations  of  the  voice  that  are  required  for 
whole  sentences.  Principles  rather  than  rules  are  required  to  guide  us.  How  we  natu- 
rally express  a  contrast.  "  Discretion  and  cunning,"  an  example  from  Addison.  Where 
the  speaker  puts  a  question,  and  then  answers  it  himself  Example  from  Cicero.  Ques- 
tions that  take  a  declarative  form.  Emphatic  repetition  of  a  word  or  thought.  Examples. 
The  introduction  of  a  simile  or  comparison  in  poetry.  Addison's  description  of  Marlbor- 
ough. The  principle  that  governs  the  reading  of  a  simile.  A  simile  from  Milton.  The 
reading  of  sublime,  grand,  and  magnificent  descriptions.     Extract  from  Pope, 

Crito.  I  have  been  reflecting  that  thus  far,  in  our  conversations,  we 
have  been  considering  chiefly  the  pronunciation  of  separate  words  and  syl- 
lables, and  that  the  twelve  Rules  which  are  given  in  the  "Elements  of  E1-- 
ocution"  treat  almost  wholly  of  tvords,  separately  considered,  rather  than  of 
sentences  and  entire  discourses.  Are  there  no  principles  of  Elocution  which 
apply  especially  to  the  different /orms  of  expression',  and  different  kinds  of 
writing'  ? 

Bernardo.  There  are,  most  assuredly ;  and  your  question  very  appropri- 
ately calls  up  the  very  subject  to  which  I  alluded  at  the  close  of  our  last 
conversation.  Different  modulations  of  the  voice,  separate  from  the  in- 
flections, accent,  and  emphasis  that  are  given  to  single  words,  are  required 
to  express  different  sentiments,  emotions,  and  passions.  Thus,  in  reading, 
sometimes  a  high  pitch  of  voice,  and  sometimes  a  low  pitch  is  required  for 
whole  sentences ;  and,  according  to  the  sentiment  and  the  circumstances  of 
the  occasion,  the  voice  must  have  all  varieties  of  tone  or  expression,  and 
range  through  all  degrees  of  high  and  low,  loud  and  soft,  forcible  and  fee- 
ble, quick,  moderate,  and  slow,  just  as  we  hear  it  in  natural  and  free  con- 
versation. 

Crito.  But  so  many  rules  are  here  required  to  be  known  that  it  would 
seem  impossible  to  learn  all  the  rules  for  correct  reading  that  might  be 
given. 

Bernardo.  It  is  not  so  much  particular  rules  as  correct  general  principles 
that  we  require  to  guide  us.  Moreover,  we  are  already  acquainted  with 
these  general  principles,  for  we  make  use  of  them  daily  in  our  ofdinary  con- 
versation ;  and  what  we  especially  need  is  to  notice  how  we  naturally  ex- 
press our  own  sentiments,  and  then  to  apply  the  principle  when  we  7^ead  the 
similar  sentiments  of  others.  Thus — for  a  simple  illustration — in  briefly 
describing  two  persons  or  objects  by  contrast  or  contraries  (a  figure  of  speech 
called  antithesis)^  we  naturally  express  the  first  clause  of  the  contrast  in  a 
little  higher  tone  of  voice  than  we  apply  to  the  latter,  with  a  prolonged 
pause  between  them,  as  in  one  of  the  examples  un^er  Rule  VI.  :  "Homer" 
was  the  greater  genius' — Virgil"  the  better  artist^"  You  will  also  observe 
that  "rhetorical  pause  of  suspension"  after  the  words  Honier  and  Virgil, 
to  which  we  have  before  alluded. 

Ci'ito.  It  occurs  to  me  that  a  fine  example  for  the  exemplification  of  this 
principle  is  furnished  by  Addison,  in  a  number  of  the  Sjiectator,  in  the  con- 
trast which  is  drawn  between  Discretion'  and  Cunning\  It  is  very  evident 
that  throughout  this  extract  the  word  cunning  is  to  be  pronounced  on  a 
lower  pitch  than  discretion,  and  that  it  receives  the  falling  inflection  on  its 
first  syllable,  while  it  has  a  veri/  slight  rising  inflection  at  its  close.  It  is  an 
extract  worthy  of  being  remembered',  also',  for  the  moral  which  it  con- 
veys. • 


28  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pakt  I. 

DISCRETION   AND  CUNNING. 

At  the  pame  time  that  I  think  dii?cretion'  the  most  u?eful  talent  that  a  man  can  be  master 
of,  1  look  upon  canning  to  he  tlie  accomplishment  of  little,  mean,  nngenerous  mind«.  Dis- 
cretion' points  out  the  noblest  endr!  to  us,  and  purfiue.-*  the  mont  proper  and  laudable  meth- 
ods of  obtaining^  them :  cunning'  has  only  private  Belfish  aims,  and  sticks  at  nothing  that 
may  make  them  succeed.  Discretion'"  has  large  and  extended  view8\  and,  like  a  well-form- 
ed eye,  commands  a  whole  horizon' :  cunning'  L?  a  kind  of  short-sightedness^  that  dL-^covers 
the  minutest  objects  that  are  near  at  hand,  hut  is  not  able  to  discern  things  at  a  distance. 

Discretion',  the  more  it  is  discovered,  gives  a  greater  authority  to  the  person  who  poe- 
sesses  it :  cunning",  when  it  is  once  detected,  loses  its  fcjrce,  and  makes  a  man  incapable  of 
bringing  about  even  those  events  which  he  might  have  done  if  he  had  passed'  only  for  a 
plain  man.  Discretion'  is  the  perfection  of  reason\  and  a  guide  to  us  in  all  the  duties  of 
life :  Ciinning'"  is  a  kind  of  instinct\  that  only  looks  out  after  our  immediate  interest  and 
welfare.  Discretion'"  is  only  found  in  men  of  strong  sem^e  and  good  understanding  :  cun- 
ning'" is  often  td  be  met  mth  in  brutes  themselves,  and  in  persons  who  are  but  the  few&st 
removes  from  tliem  :  in  short',  cunning'  is  only  the  mimic  of  discretion,  and  may  pass 
upon  weak  men,  in  the  same  manner  that  vivacity  is  often  mistaken  fur  wit',  and  gravity 
for  wisdom. 

Bernardo.  The  extract  which  you  have  given  furnishes  a  fine  illustration 
of  the  principle  refen*ed  to,  and  some  good  examples  of  the  rhetorical  pause 
of  suspension.  A  similar  style  of  reading  is  required  for  passages  in  which 
the  speaker  puts  a  question,  and  then  answers  it  himself.  If  you  should 
ever  hear  a  speaker  asking  questions,  and  then  answering  them  himself,  if 
you  will  notice,  I  think  you  will  observe  that  he  pronounces  the  question  in 
a  higher,  a  more  open,  and  declarative  tone ;  and  the  answer  (after  a  long 
pause)  in  a  lower,  slower,  and  yet  firmer  and  more  emphatic  one.  Cicero,  < 
in  his  oration  for  Murajna,  makes  use  of  this  figure  when  he  says. 

Join  issue  with  me  upon  the  crimes  themselves.  "VVliat  is  your  charge^  Cato'?  What  is 
to  be  tried'  ?  What  do  you  offer  evidence  of  ?  Do  yoxi  impeach  corruption'  ? — I  do  iwt 
defend  it.  Do  you  blame  me  for  defending,  by  my  pleading,  what  I  punished  by  law'? — 
lan-voer^  that  I  punished  corruption^,  and  not  innocence' :  as  to  corruption,  if  you  please, 
I  will  go  hand  in  hand  with  yourself  in  impeaching  it. 

Sometimes  the  question  takes  the  declarative  form,  as  in  the  following  ex- 
tract from  Cicero's  second  oration  against  Antony.  It  is  not  difficult  to 
see  that,  in  the  following  passage,  the  answers  are  to  be  pronounced  in  a 
lower,  louder,  and  more  energetic  tone  than  the  question  part,  but  with  in- 
creasing force,  to  the  last  Antony. 

As  trees  and  plants  necessarily  arise  from  seeds,  so  are  you,  AnHony,  the  seed  of  this 
most  calamitous  war.  You  mourn,  O  Romans !  that  three  of  your  armies  have  been 
slaughtered' ;  theij  were  slaughtered  by  AnHony:  you  lament  the  loss  of  your  mo't  illus- 
trious citizens';  they  were  torn  from  you  by  An^tony:  the  authority  of  this  order  is  deep- 
ly wounded' ;  it  ix  wounded  by  An'^tony:  in  short,  all  the  calamities  we  have  ever  sinci; 
beheld  (and  what  calamities  have  we  not'  beheld'  5*),  if  we  reason  rightly,  have  been  eJitire- 
ly  owing  to  .\n'tony.  Ab  Helen  was  of  Troy,  ho  the  bane,  the  misery^  the  destruction  of 
this  state    is  An 'tony. 

Crito.  As  one  figure  of  speech  is  very  apt  to  suggest  another,  I  am  here 
reminded  that  the  rqntition  of  a  word  or  thought  is  always  pronounced 
somewhat  emphatically ;  and,  when  it  takes  the  pause  of  suspension  after 
it,  it  usually  has  the  rising  inflection  also.^     Thus: 

Sir,  I  should  be  much  surprised  to  hear  that  motion  opposed  by  any  member  in  this 
house.  A  motion'  founded  injustice',  supported  by  precedent',  and  warranted  by  neces- 
sity'. 

Bernardo.  I  will  add  to  your  illustration  by  quoting  a  passage  from  Cic- 

I  It  Ib  laid  down  by  Dr.  Porter  as  a  rule,  that  **  Emphatic  repetition  reqaireB  thb  falling 
elide."    He  gives  as  example : 

"  Yr.u  wrong  me  every  way,  you  trrong''  me  Brutus." 

T  I'egard  this,  however,  merely  as  a  case  of  ordinary  emphasis,  ha\ing  the  usual  falling 
inflection.  Certainly  the  e-xamj^les  ot  r«petition  given  above  do  not  take  the  falling  in 
flection. 


Part  I.  ELOCUTIONARY.  29 

ero's  oration  against  Antony,  in  which  the  word  laws  receives  increasing 
force  upon  every  repetition,  which  gives  it  a  climax  of  importance  : 

And  shall  we  think  of  ratifying  the  acts  of  Csesar,  j-et  abolish  his  laws'  ?  Those  laws 
which  he  himself,  in  our  sight,  repeated,  pronounced,  enacted'  ?  Laws  which  he  valued 
himself  upon  passing'  ?  Laws  in  which  he  thought  the  system  of  our  government  was 
comprehended'  ?  LAWS"  which  concern  our  provinces  and  our  trials'  ?  Are  we,  I  say, 
to  repeal  such  laws,  yet  ratify  his  acts' '?  Yet  may  we  at  least  complain  of  those  which 
are  only  proposed :  as  to  those  which  we  pass',  we  are  deprived  even  of  the  liberty  to  com- 
plain. 

Crito.  Again  the  principle  of  suggestion  comes  in  to  furnish  me  with  a 
parallel  passage.  It  is  that  in  which  Germanicus,  addressing  his  mutinous 
soldiers,  employs  questions  to  give  force  and  spirit  to  his  reproaches.  The 
repetition  of  the  pronoun  you,  with  the  circumflex,  forms  a  climax  of  great 
beauty. 

What  is  there  in  these  days  that  you  have  not  attempted^  ?  What  have  you  not  proj- 
faned^  ?  What  name  shall  I  give  to  this  assembly^  ?  Shall  I  call  you  soldiers'  ?  You 
who  have  besieged  with  your  arms,  and  surrounded  with  a  trench,  the  son  of  your  emper- 
or' ?  Shall  I  call  you  citizens'  ?  Ydu"  who  have  so  shamefully  trampled  upon  the  au- 
thority of  the  senate'?  Y6U  who  have  violated  the  justice  due  to  enemies',  the  sancti- 
ty of  embassy',  and  the  rights  of  nations'  ? 

Bernardo.  As  I  remarked  at  the  beginning  of  this  conversation,  that 
sometimes  a  high  pitch  of  voice  is  required,  and  sometimes  a  low  one,  ac- 
cording to  the  sentiment,  it  may  be  well  to  notice,  in  this  place,  the  change 
of  voice  with  which  we  should  introduce  an  illustrative  simile  or  coviparison 
in  poetry.  I  think  it  will  be  found  that  at  least  the  beginning  of  the  simile 
should  be  read  in  a  lower  and  more  plaintive  tone  of  voice  than  that  part 
of  the  passage  which  precedes  it.  But  let  us  take  an  example  or  two.  Sup- 
pose we  begin  with  Addison's  beautiful  description  of  Marlborough  in  battle. 

'Twas  then  great  Marlb'rough's  mighty  soul  was  proved. 

That  in  the  shock  of  charging  hosts  unmoved. 

Amid  confusion,  horror,  and  despair, 

Examined  all  the  dreadful  scenes  of  war  ; 

In  peaceful  thought  the  iield  of  death  survey' d, 

To  fainting  squadrons  sent  the  timely  aid ; 

Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage, 

And  taught  the  doubtful  battle  where  to  rage. 

ISo  when  an  angel,  by  divine  command, 
With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land, 
(Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  past). 
Calm  and  serene  he  drives  the  furious  blast ; 
^  I  And,  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform, 

i^Rides  on  the  whirbvind,  and  directs  the  storm. — Addison. 

You  perceive  how  much  the  reading  of  this  piece  is  embellished  by  al- 
lowing the  voice  to  drop  into  a  monotone  at  the  commencement  of  the 
simile,  and  then  gradually  slide  out  of  it,  and  rise  to  a  higher  pitch  to  avoid 
too  great  a  sameness. 

Crito.  And  I  think  that  I  perceive  a  peculiar  propriety  in  this  mode  of 
introducing  a  simile  in  poetry.  It  must  be  based  upon  this  principle,  that 
the  mind,  in  forming  a  simile,  is  seldom  agitated  by  any  strong  passion ; 
and  as  the  simile  is  something  that  is  thrown  in  to  explain  or  illustrate, 
that  tone  of  voice  which  expresses  serene,  tranquil  contemplation,  seems  to 
be  the  tone  most  suitable  to  it ;  and  this,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  will  be 
found  to  be  the  plaintive  tone,  approaching  to  a  monotone.  Milton's  beau- 
tiful description  of  the  sports  of  the  fallen  angels  affords  a  good  opportuni- 
ty of  exemplifying  the  rule : 

Part  curb  their  fiery  steeds,  or  shun  the  goal 
With  rapid  wheels,  or  fronted  brigades  form," 


30  WILLSON's   fifth    R^DEK.  J'aktI. 

TAb  when,  to  warn  proud  cities,  war  appears 
«     "Waged  in  tlie  troubled  sky,  and  armies  rush 


<  To  battle  in  the  clouds,  before  each  van 


^     Prick  forth  the  aery  kniglitn  ; — with  feats  of  ami3 
l^From  either  end  of  heaven  the  welkin  burns. 
Otliers  with  vast  Typhoean  rage  more  fell, 
Rend  up  both  rocks  and  hills,  and  ride  the  air 
In  whirlwind  ;  hell  scarce  holds  the  wild  uproar, 
TAs  when  Alcides,  from  Qichalia  crown'd 
eJ  I  With  conquest,  felt  th'  envenom'd  rol)e;  and  tore, 
^  ■(  Through  pain,  up  by  the  roots  Thessalian  pines, 
•5     And  Lichas  from  the  top  of  CEta  threw 
L  Into  th'  Euboic  sea Milton, 

Bernardo.  Something  allied  to  the  principle  involved  in  reading  the  sim- 
ile, is  that  which  requires  that  sublime,  gi-and,  and  magnificent  descriptions 
in  poetry  should  be  read  with  a  similar  falling  of  the  voice,  and  a  sameness 
nearly  approaching  to  monotone.  Thus,  in  the  following  extract  from  Pope, 
a  series  of  grand  images,  commencing  at  the  fifth  line,  fills  the  mind  witli 
surprise  approaching  to  astonishment.  As  this  passion  has  a  tendency  to 
fix  the  body,  and  deprive  it  of  motion,  so  it  is  best  expressed,  in  speaking 
or  reading,  by  a  deep  and  almost  uniform  tone  of  voice, — such  inflections  as 
are  required  being  less  in  degree  than  in  most  other  cases. 

And  if  each  system  in  gradation  roll'. 

Alike  essential  to  th'  amazing  whole'. 

The  least  confusion  but  in  one',  not  all 

That  system  only',  but  the  2vhole  must  fall\ 

Let  earth  unbalanced  from  lier  orbit  fly, 

Planets  and  suns  run  lawless  through  the  sky'j 

Let  ruling  angels  ftom  their  spheres  be  hurl'd, 

Being  on  being  wreck' d,  and  world  on  world', 

Heaven's  whole  foundations  to  their  centre  nod, 

And  Nature  tremble  to  the  throne  of  God' : 

All  this  dread  order  break^  1 — for  whom'  ?  for  thee'  ? 

Vile  worm' ! — oh  madness' !  pride' !  impiety' ! — Pope. 

But  I  see  our  time  is  already  exhausted,  and  we  must  defer  a  farther  con- 
sideration of  the  subject  until  the  next  evening. 

FIFTH  EVENING. 

Analysis Public  speaking ;  and  reading  in  public  the  speeches  of  others.     General 

principles  that  should  govern  both.  How  should  we  read  a  quoted  speech  in  the  speech 
of  another?  The  speech  of  (Jansius,  in  which  he  repeats  the  supplicating  words  of  C89->ar. 
The  principle  that  should  govern  the  reading  of  it.  Hotspur's  description  of  a  conceited 
fop.  The  swain  in  (iray's  Kle^ry.  The  '•'■  Last  words  of  Mannion."  tieneral  principles. 
The  reading  of  dialogue,  where  the  personification  is  complete.  Gray's  poem,  "The 
Hard."     The  personification  of  I'ride,  in  Pope's  llssay  on  Man. 

Bernardo.  Weir,  Crito',  what  topic  or  topics  have  you  to  suggest  for  our 
consideration  this  evening'  ? 

Crito.  I  have  been  tliinking  upon  the  subject  of  public  speaking,  and 
also  about  readinrf  in  public  the  speeches  of  others, 

Bernardo.  A  very  important  subject ;  or,  rather,  tiro  important  siibjccts, 
as  they  are  not  one  and  the  same  thing.  Do  they  suggest  any  difficulties 
to  you'  ? 

Crito.  I  have  seen  it  laid  down  as  a  rule  that  in  speaXing  the  speech  of 
another,  we  should  give  it  all  the  force  and  energy  that  would  become  the 
character  whose  words  are  assumed.  This  appears  reasonable,  because  we 
assume  to  personate  another — to  put  ourselves  in  his  place.  But  I  would 
like  to  know  if  we  ought  to  read  the  s]KH>ch  of  another  just  as  we  should 
prono\ince  it  from  the  rostrum.     In   other  words,  if  wc  rexul  a  sjieech 


Tart  1.  ELOCUTIONARY.  31 

merely  for  the  information  of  our  hearers,  should  we  do  it  oratorical- 

Bernardo.  1  am  pleased  with  your  question,  for  it  shows  that  you  have 
already  discriminated  between  the  character  of  an  orator  uttering  his  own 
sentiments,  and  that  of  one  who  merely  reads  from  a  book.  Where  the 
reader  merely  reads  his  oivn  speech,  he  may  safely  act  the  orator  in  his  own 
person  ;  but  if  he  merely  assumes  the  character  of  a  reader  of  the  words  of 
another,  he  occupies  a  different  position  in  the  view  of  his  hearers,  and  his 
manner  must  be  different.  Yet  I  would  have  you  bear  in  mind  that  these 
two  kinds  of  style  or  manner  of  reading  should  differ  only  in  degree  of 
force ;  the  greater  degree  in  the  case  of  the  orator,  and  the  lesser  in  that 
of  the  reader :  the  tones,  inflections,  and  gesticulations  should  be  the  same 
in  kind  in  both. 

Crito.  I  see  there  is  much  reason  in  this  rule  ;  for  it  would  be  very  diffi- 
cult for  one  who  had  assumed  the  character  of  a  reader  to  change  wholly  to 
that  of  an  orator,  without  doing  violence  to  the  feelings  of  his  hearers.  And 
yet  the  reader  must  give  tones  and  inflections  of  the  same  kind  as  the  ora- 
tor used,  or  he  will  not  faithfully  represent  him.  But  still  another  point 
has  been  suggested  to  me.  What  if  the  speaker  quotes  what  another  person 
said :  how  should  we  read  this  speech  within  a  speech^  ?  For  example, 
we  will  take  the  speech  of  Cassius,  in  which  he  is  describing  Caesar  unde 
the  paroxysms  of  a  fever.     Cassius  says. 

He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 

And,   when  the  fit  was  on  him',  1  did  mark 

How  he  did  shake^ :  'tis'  true\  this  god'  did  8hake\ 

Hia  coward  lips  did  from  their  color  fly\ 

And  that  same  eye',  whose  hend  doth  awe  the  world', 

Didlose  his  lustre^  :  I  did  hear  hira  groan^^ 

Ay,    and  that  tongue  of  his',  that  bade  the  Romans 

Mark  him',  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books', 

Alas  !~  it  cried',  '•'•  Give  rue  xoine  drink\  Titinius'" 

As  a  sick*  girl Suakspeaee. 

Must  these  words  of  Ca?sar,  "Give  me  some  drink\  TitiniusV't  be  pro- 
nounced in  exact  imitation  of  the  small,  feeble  voice  of  a  sick  person' — just 
as  Caesar  spoke  them'  ? 

Bernardo.  By  no  means,  because  Cassius  did  not  pronounce  them  so ;  for, 
with  only  a  partial  imitation  of  the  feeble  voice  of  Cajsar,  Cassius  united  a 
tone  of  scorn  and  contempt,  which  we  should  preserve  when  reading  the 
passage.  You  must  bear  in  mind  that  when  reading  a  speech  you  are  to 
assume  the  character  of  the  leading  speaker  throughout,  modified  only  in  de- 
gree. If  Cassius  (the  loading  speaker)  had  merely  mimicked  Cajsar,  without 
uniting  scorn  and  contempt  with  the  mimicry,  he  would  have  lowered  him- 
self to  the  character  of  a  buffoon,  and  would  thus  have  made  himself  ap- 
])ear  ridiculous.  Much  more  ridiculous  should  we  appear  if,  in  reading 
this  passage,  we  should  become  the  mere  mimic,  and  that  at  third  hand  too. 

In  8hakspeare's  Heniy  the  Fourth,  the  hero,  Hotspur,  describes  a  con- 
ceited fop  in  language  indicative  of  anger  and  contempt.  In  reading  the 
speech  we  must  assume  the  character  of  Hotspur  rather  than  that  of  the 

*  If  the  reader  supposes  that  Crito  designed  this  as  a  rejyeated  question,  he  will  give  it 
the  falling  inflection,  in  accordance  with  Note  3,  Rule  I.  Otherwise  he  will  give  it  the 
rising  inflection.  Now  who  shall  decide  what  (Jrito's  intention  was?  All  those  who  re- 
gard it  as  a  repeated  question  will  evidently  rend  it  in  one  way,  and  all  those  who  regard 
it  as  merely  explanatory  will  read  another  way.  This  well  illustrates  tlie  principle  laid 
down,  that  different  readinffH  of  a  passnge  arise  from  different  interpretations  of  it. 

t  Kven  here  the  degree  of  force  must  be  lean  than  when  these  words  are  supposed  to  be 
•  poken  by  Cassius. 


32  willson's  fifth  reader.  Takt  1. 

fop  whom  he  describes,  carrying  out  the  leading  passion  instead  of  the 
secondary.  If  in  reading  any  piece  we  so  far  forget  the  leading  passion  as 
to  assume  the  secondary  entirely,  we  fall  into  mimicry,  and  render  our  ex- 
pression, however  just  in  other  respects,  ridiculous.  I  will  read  the  whole 
speech  of  Hotspur,  in  one  part  of  which,  as  you  will  perceive,  he  assumes 
to  give  the  language  of  the  fop. 

My  liege,  I  did  deny  no  prisoners 
But  I  remember,  wlien  the  fif?ht  was  done, 
When  I  wad  dry  with  rage  and  extreme  toil, 
Breatliless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dress' d, 
Fre.-<h  as  a  bridegi-oom  ;  and  hirt  chin,  new  reap'd, 
Show'd  like  a  stiibble-field  at  harvest-home: 
He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner ; 
And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  lie  held 
A  pouncet-box,  which  ever  and  anon 
He  gave  his  nose,  and  took't  away  again  ; 
Who,  therewith  angry,  wlien  it  next  came  there. 
Took  it  in  enuflf:  and  still  he  smiled  and  talk*d ; 
And  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 
He  called  them    untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 
To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 
lietwixt  the  wind  and  hia  nobility. 
With  many  a  holiday  and  lady  terms 
lie  question' d  me;  among  the  rest  demanded 
My4>ri8oners,  in  your  majesty's  behalf. 
1  then,  all  smarting,  with  my  wounds  being  cold. 
To  be  so  iwster'd  by  a  popinjay. 
Out  of  my  gi-ief  and  my  impatience, 
Answer'd  neglectingly,  I  know  not  what; 
He  should,  or  he  should  not ;  for  he  made  me  mad\ 
To  see  him  shine  so  brisk,  and  smell  so  sweet, 
And  talk  so  like  a  waiting  gentlewoman. 
Of  guns,  and  drums,  and  wounds  (Clod  save  the  mark!). 
And  telling  me  the  sovereign' st  thing  on  eailh 
Was  spcnuaceti  for  an  inward  bruise; 
And  that  it  was  great  pity,  so  it  was, 
That  villainous  saltpetre  should  be  digg'd 
Out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth, 
Wliich  many  a  g<x»d  tall  fellow  had  destroyed 
So  cowardly;  and,  but  for  these  vile  guns, 
He  would  himself  have  been  a  8oldier\ 
This  bold  unjointed  chat  of  his,  my  lord', 
1  answer'd  indirectly,  as  I  said ; 
And  I  beseech  you,  let  not  this  report 
("ome  current  for  an  accusation. 
Betwixt  my  love  and  your  high  majesty.— Shakspearb. 

Orito.  I  perceive  that  the  rule  which  you  have  laid  down  will  also  apply 
tx)  what  is  supposed  to  have  been  said  by  the  hoary-headed  swain  in  Gray's 
Elegy  in  a  Country  Church-yard. 

For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  the  unhonor'd  dead. 

Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate. 
If  chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led,  • 

Some  kindred  spirit  should  inquire  thy  fate'. 
Haply  some  hoary -headed  swain  may  say, 

"  Oft  have  we  seen  him,  at  tlie  peep  of  dawn, 
Bnishiug  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away, 

To  meet  tiie  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 
"There,  at  the  f(K>t  of  yonder  nculding  beech. 

That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 
Ilia  listless  length  nt  noontide  would  ho  stretch, 

And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by,"  etc — Oray, 

Bernardo.  Yon  are  correct.     It  would  be  verv  ridiculous,  in  n'-ndiii};  this 


Part  I.  ELOCUTIONARY.  33 

passage,  to  quit  the  melancholy  tone  of  the  narrator,  and  assume  the  indiffer- 
ent and  rustic  accent  of  the  old  swain.  What  is  needed  in  reading  the  last 
seven  lines  of  this  extract  is  to  abate  the  plaintive  tone  a  little,  and  give  it  a 
slight  tincture  only  of  the  indifference  and  rusticity  of  the  person  introduced. 
The  same  principle  applies  to  the  "last  words  of  Marmion,"in  the  fol- 
lowing extract  from  Sir  Walter  Scott : 

The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 

Now  trebly  thundering  swelled  the  gale. 

And — Stanley !  was  the  cry. 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye. 
With  dying  hand,  above  his  head 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  "  \'ictory! 
Charge,  Chester,  charge  1     On,  Stanley,  on !" 

Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion, — Scott. 

How  often  have  I  heard  this  passage,  containing  the  last  words  of  the 
dying,  hero,  murdered  by  the  schoolboy  in  a  vain  attempt  to  give  it  all  the 
force  of  the  living  reality.  Where  the  narrator  stands  out  prominently  be-- 
fore  the  mind,  and  is  represented  as  telling  what  another  person  said,  it  is 
not  in  good  taste  for  one  who  is  reading  the  narration  to  change  to,  and 
fully  assume,  the  character  of  that  other  person.  He  must  give  the  greater 
prominence  throughout  to  the  passion  shown  by  the  leading  character — 
that  of  the  supposed  narrator.  For  example,  the  reader  or  speaker  should 
give  greater  prominence  to  the  passion  of  Cassius'  than  to  that  of  sick  Cae- 
sar^ ;  to  that  of  Hotspur'  than  to  that  of  the  fop^ ;  to  that  of  the  narrator  in 
the  Elegy'  than  to  that  of  the  rustic  swain^ ;  and  to  that  of  the  describer  of 
the  battle'  than  to  the  character  of  Marmion\  Much  force  should,  in- 
deed, be  given  to  the  repeated  words  of  Marmion,  but  they  must  not  be 
screamed  out,  as  Marmion  uttered  them. 

Crito.  But  what  if  I  am  reading  a  dialogue,  or  one  of  Shakspeare's 
Plays.  Do  the  same  principles  prevail  here',  and  is  the  same  rule  to  bo 
observed' ? 

Bernardo.  By  no  means.  The  principles  of  the  composition  are  entirely 
different.  In  dialogue,  the  personification  of  each  character  is  complete 
and  entire  in  itself,  and  wholly  independent.  Therefore,  in  dialogue,  or  in 
dramatic  composition,  full  force  and  energy  should  be  given  to  the  passion 
shown  by  each  character. 

Crito.  May  not,  then,  the  personification  be  so  complete  in  some  other 
kinds  of  composition  as  to  require  the  same  degree  of  force  and  energy  as 
in  dramatic  writing'  ? 

Bernardo.  Certainly  it  may  be.  Thus,  at  the  beginning  of  Gray's  Poem, 
"The  Bard,"  one  of  the  bards  of  Wales  is  represented  as  meeting  King 
Edward  on  his  march,  and  addressing  him  in  the  following  language  of-' 
.sublime  rage,  which  should  be  read  or  spoken  with  all  the  vehemence  which 
may  be  supposed  to  have  characterized  the  language  of  the  bard  himself. 

"  Ruin  seize  thee,  ruthless  king ! 

Confusion  on  thy  banners  wait ! 
Though  fann'd  by  conquest's  crimson  wing. 

They  mock  the  air  with  idle  state. 
Helm,  or  hauberk's  twisted  mail, 
Nor  e'en  thy  virtues,  tyrant,  shall  avail 
To  save  thy  secret  soul  from  nightly  fears, 
From  Cambria's  curse,  from  Cambria's  tearn  !"' 
Such  were  the  sounds  that  o'er  the  crested  pride 

Of  the  first  Kdward  scatter'd  wild  dir^may, 

B  2 


34  willson's  fifth  EEADEK.  1»art  I. 

As  down  the  steep  of  Snowdon's  shaggy  side 

He  wound  with  toilsome  inarch  his  long  array. — Gray. 

Here  the  personification  is  complete,  and  the  language  of  the  bard  is 

strictly  dramatic.     I  will  give  you  one  example  more.     The  personification 

of  ]jride,  in  Pope's  Essay  on  Man,  is  complete,  and  not  subordinate  to  any 

other  passion,  and  may  therefore  be  allowed  a  forcible  dramatic  expression. 

Ask  for  whiit  end  the  heavenly  bodies  shine', 

Earth  for  whose  use' :     l*ride'  answers',  '■'•'Tisfor  mine\ 

For  me    kind  Nature  wakes  her  genial  power, 

Suckles  each  herb,  and  spjeads  out  eveiy  flower ; 

Annual  for  me  the  grape,    the  rose,    renew 

The  juice  nectareous,  and  the  balmy  dew' : 

For  ine  the  mine  a  thousand  treasures  brings^ 

For  vie  health  gushes  from  a  thousand  springs' ; 

Seas  roll  to  waft  me',  suns  to  light  me  rise'. 

My  footstool  earth',  my  canopy  the  skies'." — Pope. 

This  passage  is  essentially  dramatic,  and  admits  of  a  certain  splendor  in 
the  pronunciation  expressive  of  the  ostentation  of  the  speaker,  and  the 
riches  and  grandeur  of  the  objects  introduced.  But  I  think  we  have  gone 
over  sufficient  ground  for  one  evening.  The  topics  which  we  have  here  only 
briefly  adverted  to  may  be  considered  as  merely  introductory  to  the  subject 
of  Oratoky,  which  I  trust  you  will  have  opportunity  to  attend  to  hereafter.* 

SIXTH  EVENING. 

Anat,tbib. — Directions  for  the  cultivation  of  the  voice.  Flexibility.  Power  of  voice. 
The  natural  pitch  of  the  voice.  The  middle  tone.  Practical  directions  for  strengthening 
this  middle  tone.  Macbeth's  address  toBanquo's  ghost.  Exercises  for  strengthening  the 
low  or  bass  tones.  Lady  Macbeth's  reproach  of  hor  husband.  Lady  Constance  reproach- 
ing the  Duke  of  Austria.  Exercises  for  strengthening  the  high  tones.  Cautions  suggest- 
ed. Extract  from  an  oration  of  Demosthenes.  The  harmonizing  of  the  sense  and  the 
souml.  To  preserve  the  melody  of  verse  and  avoid  monotony.  Lamentation  of  Orphe- 
us. Darius.  Itcpetition  of  a  word.  When  a  sing-song  tone  may  be  admissible.  "  The 
Pauper's  Drive."     Extensive  use  of  the  circumflex  or  wave.     Use  of  the  tremor. 

Crito.  In  our  former  conversations  it  appears  to  have  been  taken  for 
granted  that  the  reader  is  able  to  execute  readily  all  those  inflections  and 
modulations  of  voice  that  are  required  in  the  various  kinds  of  elocutionary 
reading.  But  may  not  some  useful  directions  be  given  for  the  cultivation 
of  the  voice'? 

Bernardo.  The  cultivation  of  clearness  and  distinctness  of  intonation, 
together  with  practice  in  the  inflections  and  modulations,  will  give  the 
voice  all  rcc{\\\i^\iCi  flexibility ;  but  something  more  is  required  to  give  it 
poiver.  That  requires  a  difi^erent  kind  of  practice — a  ])hysical  training  of 
tlio  voice,  which  should  be  under  the  guidance  of  pliysiological  principles. 

Crito.  But  may  not  jtidicious  exercises  be  appropriately  given  for  strength- 
ening the  voice,  even  without  a  knowledge  of  the  principles  to  which  you  re- 
fer'? 

liernardo.  There  may,  indeed,  and  to  some  of  them  I  pnrjwse  now  to 
call  your  attention.  Yon  are  perhaps  aware  that  everj'  one  has  a  certain 
natural  ])itcli  of  voice,  in  which  he  is  most  ca.sy  to  himself,  and  most  agreea- 
ble to  others.  This  is  the  pitch  in  which  wo  converse ;  and  this  must  be 
the  bnsis  of  ever}'  improvement  we  acquire  from  art  and  exercise.  If  we 
would  increase  our />0M'er  of  voice,  we  must  strengthen  this  ordinary  middle 
tone ;  and  in  order  to  do  this,  we  must  read  and  speak  in  this  tone  as  loud 
as  possible,  without  suffering  the  voice  to  rise  into  a  higher  key. 

*  The  subject  of  Ouatouv  Is  set  apart  as  one  of  the  divisions  of  the  Seventh,  or  Acap 
dcinical  Reader. 


Part  I.  ELOCUTIONARY.  35 

When  we  attempt  this  for  the  first  time  we  find  it  no  easy  operation  ;  it 
is  not  difficult  to  be  loud  in  a  high  tone,  but  to  be  loud  and  forcible  without 
raising  the  voice  into  a  higher  key  requires  great  practice  and  management. 
If  you  wish  to  strengthen  your  voice  without  danger  of  injuring  it  by  over-ex- 
ertion, I  would  advise  you  to  practice  reading  and  speaking  some  strong,  ani- 
mated passages  in  a  small  room,  and  to  persons  placed  at  as  small  a  distance 
from  you  as  possible  ;  address  them  with  your  voice  at  a  natural  pitch,  and 
throw  into  it  all  the  force  possible,  taking  care  not  to  let  the  voice  rise  into 
a  higher  key.  This  will  tend  to  swell  and  strengthen  the  voice  in  the  mid- 
dle tone,  the  tone  that  is  most  required  in  reading  and  oratory,  and  the  only 
tone  that  one  can  speak  in  for  a  long  time  with  comfort  to  himself  or  pleas- 
ure to  others.  A  good  practice  on  this  tone  of  voice^  will  be  such  passages 
as  Macbeth's  address  to  Banquo's  ghost,  or  any  other  language  addre^ssed 
to  jjersons  near  us, 

Avaimt !  and  quit  my  sight !  let  the  earth  hide  thee  ! 

Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold  ; 

Tlioii  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 

Which  thou  dost  glare  with  ! 

"What  man  dare  I  dare  : 

Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear, 

The  arm'  d  rhinoceros,  or  the  1  lyrcan  tiger ; 

Take  any  shape  but  thut\  and  my  firm  nerves 

Shall  never  tremble. 

Hence,  horrible  shadow  ! 

Unreal  mock'ry,  hence ! — Macbeth,  Act  III.,  Scene  4. 

Onto.  Such  exercises,  I  perceive,  are  well  fitted  to  strengthen  the  ordi- 
nary tone ;  but  if  one  is  deficient  in  the  low  or  bass  tones  (which  I  know 
are  sometimes  very  effective  in  oratory),  what  kind  of  pieces  will  then  be 
most  suitable  for  practice  ? 

Bernardo.  Those,  doubtless,  which  indicate  hatrod,  scorn,  or  reproach ; 
for  such  feelings  are  naturally  expressed  in  a  full,  audible  tone  of  voice,  and 
in  a  low  key.  Such  pieces  should  be  read  or  spoken  at  first  a  little  below 
tlie  common  pitch ;  when  we  can  do  this  with  ease  we  may  practice  them  on 
a  key  a  little  lower,  and  then  lower  still,  and  so  on  until  we  get  as  low  as 
we  desire.  The  following,  from  Shakspeare,  where  Lady  Macbeth  reproach- 
es her  husband  with  want  of  manliness,  will  be  found  a  good  exercise  for 
this  purpose : 

O  proper  stuff' ! 

T/iZ-i^  is  the  proper  painting^  of  your  fears : 

This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger^  which  j'ou  said 

Led  you  to  Duucan\     Oh,  these  flaws  and  starts 

(Impostors  to  true  fear)  would  well  become 

A  womarCs  story  at  a  winter's  fire. 

Authorized  by  her  grandam\     Shame  itself  ! 

Why  do  you  make  such  faces^  ?    When  all's  done', 

You  look  but  on  a  stooP. — Macbeth,  Act  III.,  Scene  2. 

Or  where  Lady  Constance,  in  King  John",  reproaches  the  Duke  of  Austria 
with  want  of  courage  and  spirit : 

Austria.  Lady  Constjince',  peaco'. 

Constance.  War !  war !  no  peace !  peace  is  to  me  a  war. 

O  Austria  !  thou  dost  shame    . 

That  bloody  spoil.     Thou  slave !  thou  wretch  I  thou  coward  ! 

Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villainy  ! 

Thou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  side  !  , 

Thou  fortune's'  champion,  that  dost  never  fight 

But  when  her  humorous  ladyship  is  by 

To  teach  thee  safety^ !  thou  artper/7<r'd  too, 

And  pooth'st  up  greatness.     What  a  fool  art  thou\ 

A  ram|)ing/oo/\*  to  brag\  and  ?t;imp\  and  swear^ 


36  willson's  fifth  BEADER.  PaBX  I. 

Upon  my  party^ !    Thou  cold-blooded  slavey 

Ilaat  thou  not  spoke  like  thunder  on  my  eide'  ? 

Been  Hworn  my  soldier'  ?  bidding  me  depend 

Upon  thy  stars,  thy  fortune,  and  thy  strength'  ? 
a.  And  dost  thou  now  fall  over  to  my  foes'  'i 
6.  Thou  wear  a  noil's  hide  I    Doflf  it  for  shame, 
c.  And  hang  a  calf's  skin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 

King  John,  Act  m.,  Scene  1. 

Onto.  And  I  suppose  that  for  acquiring  strength  in  a  high  tone  of  voice, 
the  very  opposite  class  of  pieces  should  be  practiced  upon — those  which  nat- 
urally require  a  high  tone. 

Bernardo.  Certainly.  But  here  one  or  two  cautions  are  requisite.  Care 
must  be  taken  not  to  strain  the  voice  by  over-exertion ;  and,  in  the  second 
place,  when  the  entire-piece  read  or  spoken  requires  a  high  pitch,  we  must 
avoid  the  evil  of  a  loud  and  vociferous  beginning.  Thus,  in  the  following 
passage  from  an  oration  of  Demosthenes,  the  series  of  questions  ought  to 
rise  gradually  in  force  as  they  pi'oceed,  although  iha  pitch  should  be  the  same 
throughout  the  series.  In  the  closing  sentence,  however,  the  voice  should 
fall  to  a  slow  but  forcible  monotone. 

What  was  the  part  of  a  faithful  citizen^  ?  of  a  prudent,  an  active,  and  honest  minister^  ? 
Was  he  not  to  secure  Euboea,  as  our  defense  against  all  attacks  by  sea'  ?  Was  he  not  to 
make  Rceotia  our  barrier  on  the  midland  side'  ?  the  cities  bordering  on  Peloponnesus  our 
bulwark  on  that  quarter'  ?  Was  he  not  to  attend  with  due  precaution  to  the  importation 
of  com,  that  this  trade  might  be  pi'otected  through  all  its  progress  up  to  our  own  harbor'  ? 
Was  he  not  to  cover  those  districts  which  we  commanded  by  reasonable  detachments'  ?  to 
exert  himself  in  the  assembly  for  this  purpose',  while  with  equal  zeal  he  labored  to  gain 
others  to  our  interest  and  alliance'  ?  Was  he  not  to  cut  off  the  best  and  most  important  re- 
sources of  our  enemies,  and  to  supply  those  in  which  our  country  was  defective'  ? — And 
all  this  you  gained  by  my  counsels  and  my  administration. 

Cnto.  It  has  occured  to  me  that,  as  all  possible  varieties  of  emotions  and 
feelings  may  be  expressed  in  verse,  and  as  the  reading  of  verse  requires  the 
observance  of  certain  pauses  of  melody,  the  sense  and  the  sound  may  some- 
times fail  to  hannonize. 

Bernardo.  That  ought  seldom  to  happen;  for  as  a  coincidence  in  the 
pauses  of  sense  and  melody  is  a  capital  beauty,  a  good  poet  will  always 
strive  to  attain  it.  In  reading  verse,  the  pronimciation  should  conform  as 
nearly  to  the  melody  as  the  sense  will  admit,  care  being  taken  to  break  the 
monotony  by  a  judicious  use  of  the  inflections.  You  will  observe  that,  in 
reading  the  following  selections,  I  preserve  the  melody  of  the  verse,  while 
the  monotony  is  broken  by  a  judicious  var}'ing  of  the  inflections.  The  first 
example,  which  is  from  Virgil,  is  the  plaintive  lamentation  of  Orpheus  for 
his  beloved  Eurydicc : 

Thee',  his  lov'd  wife',  along  the  lonely  shores; 

Tlieo',  his  lov'd^  wife',  his  mournful  song  deplores ; 

Theo',  when  the  rising  morning  gives  tlio  light ; 

Tliee',  when  the  world  was  overspread  with  night. — Viroii- 

The  next  is  from  Dryden,  who  thus  paints  the  sad  reverse  of  fortune  suf- 
fered by  Darius : 

Dfterted  at  his  gi*eate^t  need 

By  those  his  former  bounty  fed', 
llo  Phose  a  mournful  muse," 

Soft  pity  to  infuse^ : 
lie  sung  Dariu8\  great  and  good\ 
By  too  severe  a  fate, 


Fallen',  fallen,   fallen^  fallen' 


o.  These  queetions  gradually  increase  in  elevation  of  tone  and  intensity. 
h.  Here  the  voire  suddenly  falU,  and  taken  a  tone  of  the  niost  bitter  irony. 
e.  Spoken  witli  tlio  bitterest  sccim. 


Part  1.  ELOCUTIONARY.  37 

Fallen'  from  his  high  estate, 

And  weltering  in  his  blood. — Deyden. 

I  will  give  one  more  example,  in  which,  also,  there  is  a  repetition  of  a 
word — a  figure  of  speech  which  is  sometimes  used  to  mark  the  importance 
of  some  emphatical  jjvord  or  phrase. 

Happy',  happy,"  happy^  pair'  L^ 

None  but  the  brave\ 

None^  but  the  brave. 

None  buP  the  brave,  deserve  the  fair. 

Crito.  I  observe  in  these  examples  that  a  sing-song  monotony  and  tame- 
ness  of  expression  are  avoided  by  a  judicious  use  of  emphasis  and  inflec- 
tions. But  may  not,  sometimes,  a  sing-song  tone  be  required,  in  order  to 
express  the  sentiments  or  the  feelings  of  the  writer'  ? 

Bernardo.  I  am  very  glad  you  have  asked  the  question,  for  it  recalls  to 
ray  mind  an  English  ballad  of  great  power  and  beauty,  in  one  portion  of 
which  this  very  sing-song  tone  of  reading  is  required,  to  harmonize  with  the 
sense  and  the  scene  represented.  It  is  the  "Pauper's  Drive,"  written  by 
Thomas  Noel.  As  we  read  the  dirge  which  the  driver  sings,  we  can  scarce- 
ly refrain  from  singing  it  too,  and  with  a  kind  of  careless  sadness,  which, 
in  the  closing  of  the  fourth  verse,  changes  to  a  plaintive  and  impressive  re- 
proof.' 

THE   pauper's   drive. 

There's  a  grim  one-horse  hearse,  in  a  jolly  round  trot ; 
To  the  church-yard  a  pauper  is  going,  I  wot ; 
The  road  it  is  rough,  and  the  hearse  has  no  springs, 
And  hark  to  the  dirge  which  the  sad  driver  sings  : 

Rattle  his  bones  over  the  stones  ; 

He' s  only  a  pauper  whom  nobody  owns. 
Oh  where  are  the  mourners^  ?  alas !  there  are  none ; 
He  has  left  not  a  gap  in  the  world  now  he's  gone ; 
Not  a  tear  in  the  eye  of  child,  woman,  or  man : 
To  the  grave  with  his  carcass  as  fast  as  you  can, 

Eattle  his  bones  over  the  stones  ; 

He's  only  a  pauper  ivhom  nobody  owns. 
"SVhat  a  jolting,  and  creaking,  and  splashing,  and  dinl 
The  whip  how  it  cracks,  and  the  wheels  how  they  spin  1 
How  the  dirt  right  and  lef!  o'er  the  hedges  is  hurled ! 
The  pauper  at  length  makes  a  noise  in  the  Avorld ! 

Rattle  his  bones  over  the  stones ; 

He's  only  a  pauper  whom  nobody  owns. 
Poor  pauper  defunct^ !  he  has  made  some  approach 
To  gentility\  now  that  he's  stretched  in  a  coach' ; 
He's  taking  a  drive  in  his  carriage  at  last, 
But  it  will  not  be  long  if  he  goes  on  so  fast : 

Rattle  his  bones  over  the  stones ; 

He's  only  a  pauper  whom  nobody  owns. 
But  a  truce  to  this  strain\  for  my  soul  it  is  sad," 
To  think  thata  heart,  in  humanity  clad," 
Should  make,    like. the  brutes,"  such  a  desolate  end\ 
And  depart  from  the  light  without  leaving  a  friend. 

Bear  softly  his  bones  over  the  stones : 

Though  a  pauper,  he's  one  whom  his  Maker  yet  owns. 

Thomas  Noel. 

C/ito.  The  reading  of  this  last  line  leads  me  to  ask  if  the  intonation  de- 
noted by  the  circumflex  or  wave  is  not  frequently  employed  to  express  ten- 
der and  pathetic  feelings  ? 

Bernardo.  It  is  ;  and  the  "  gentle  rising  inflection"  which  is  mentioned 
in  Rule  IX.  as  the  proper  intonation  for  tender  emotion  is  in  reality  the 


38  WILLSON's  fifth   reader.  Part  I. 

circumflex  that  terminates  with  the  rising  slide.  Thus,  in  the  example 
there  given — "Is  your  father  well',  the  old  man'  of  whom  ye  spake'?  Is 
he'  yet  alive' f' — the  rising  inflection,  as  marked,  is  really  the  ending  of 
the  circumflex.  This  kind  of  circumflex,  it  may  be  remarked,  is  the  proper 
intonation  of  prayer,  and  of  all  serious  appeal,  and  ev^  of  narrative  into 
which  tender  emotion  enters.  Thus,  if  the  following,  wliich  has  no  em- 
phatic words,  be  read  with  tender  feeling,  every  syllable  will  have  a  gentle 
circumflex  or  wave,  ending  with  the  upward  slide : 

"  Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  Bhade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep." — Gray. 

In  the  following  example,  however,  it  is  only  the  emphatic  words  which 
receive  the  circumflex,  which  is  a  little  more  conspicuous  here  than  when 
it  is  given  to  every  syllable. 

"•  And  ia  this  all  your  store'  ?  and  a  sMre  of  this  dcTyou  offer  to  diie  you  knlho  not'  ? 
Then  never  saw  I  clulritrj  before^" 

I  have  one  more  remark  to  make  on  this  subject  of  expression.  Yon 
have  doubtless  noticed  that  in  very  effective  reading  or  speaking,  into  which 
emotion  enters,  a  kind  of  tremor  of  the  voice  may  often  be  obserA'ed.  It  is 
not  confined  to  any  one  kind  of  emotion,  but,  when  skillfully  used, 'gives 
additional  force  to  expressions  of  joy,  rapture,  triumph,  scorn,  and  contempt, 
and  also  to  those  of  great  grief  and  anguish.  Its  two  extremes  tend  to- 
ward laughter  on  the  one  hand,  and  crying  on  the  other.  We  have  an  ex- 
ample of  the  former  from  Shakspeare,  in  Shylock's  exultation  at  the  deci- 
sion of  the  learned  judge,  seemingly  in  his  favor : 

"  A  Daniel  come  to  judgment* !  yea,  a  Danicr  ! 
O  wise  young  judge',  how  I  do  honor'  thee!" 

but  still  better  in  Gratiano's  exultation  at  the  discomfiture  of  the  Jew  : 

''  O  upright  judge  I — mark  Jew ; — O  learned  judge  1" 
and  of  the  latter  we  have  a  good  example  in  Shylock's  grief,  which  shows 
itself  in  the  tremulous  tones  of  a  broken-hearted  old  man : 

"■  I  pray  you  give  me  leave  to  go  from  hence: 
I  am  not  well ;  send  the  deed  after  me, 
And  I  will  sign  it" 

It  is  impossible,  however,  to  appreciate  the  spirit  of  these  extracts,  and 
read  them  appropriately,  without  a  knowledge  of  the  whole  play.  The  fol- 
lowing, which  almost  every  one  would  naturally  read  in  a  monotone,  and 
with  a  slight  tremor,  will  be  better  appreciated  : 

"  The  tear, 
I  The  groan,  the  knell,  the  pall,  the  bier, 

And  all  we  know,  or  dream,  or  fear 
Of  agony,  are  thine."— Hallfxjk. 

That  old  but  truly  beautiful  piece,  "The  Beggar's  Petition,"  loses  all  its 
pathos  if  not  read  with  the  tremor  which  we  should  expect  from  one  whose 
condition  is  there  represented.     I  will  pronounce  the  first  verse  only  : 
''  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man. 

Whose  tronibling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door, 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span  ; 
Oh!  give  relief, and  Heaven  will  bless  your  store." 

It  requires  an  accomplished  rhetorician  to  read  such  pieces  well. 


Part  I.  ELOCUTIOXARY.  39 


ADDITIONAL  ELOCUTIONAEY  EXERCISES, 

WITH   REFERENCES   TO   THE    RULES. 
[The  figures  refer  to  the  rules  indicated  by  them.] 
Can  he  exalt  his  thoughts  to  any  thing  great  and  noble  who  only  believes  that,  after  n 
Kiiort  turn  on  the  stage  of  this  world,  he  is  to  sink  into  oblivion,  and  to  lose  his  conscious- 
ness forever'?! 

How  can  he  exalt  his  thoughts  to  any  thing  great  and  noble  who  only  believes  that,  aft- 
er a  short  turn  on  the  stage  of  this  world,  he  is  to  sink  into  oblivion,  and  to  lose  his  con- 
sciousness forever^  ?3 

b.  Where  amid  the  dark  clouds  of  pagan  philosophy,  can  he  show  us  so  clear  a  prospect 
of  a  future  state\  the  immortality  of  the  soul\  the  resuiTection  of  the  dead\  and  the  gen- 
eral judgment', »  as  in  St.  Paul'*  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians^? 

Can  he  show  us,  any  where,  amid  the  dark  clouds  of  pagan  philosophy,  so  clear  a  pros- 
))ect  of  a  future  state',  the  immortality  of  the  soul',  the  re.-;urrection  of  the  dead',  and  the 
general  judgment',  as  in  St.  I'aul's  First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians'  ?  (Rule  VIII.,  Note.) 

Shall  we,  in  your  person,  crown  the  author  of  the  public  calamities',  or  shall  we  destroy 
liun^?5 

a.  To  advise  the  ignorant\8  relieve  the  needy,^8  comfort  the  afflicted',  are  duties  that 
fall  in  our  way  alma<t  every  day  of  our  lives. 

a.  The  miser  is  more  industrious  than  the  saint.  The  pains  of  getting\8  the  fear  of 
losing^s  and  the  inability  of  enjojing  his  wealth',  have  been  the  mark  of  satire  in  all 
ages. 

a.  The  descriptive  part  of  this  allegoiy  is  likewise  very  strong,  and  full  of  sublime 
ideas.  The  figure  of  l)eath\8  the  regal  crown  upon  his  head\«  his  menace  to  Satan  \8 
his  advancing  to  the  combat', 8  the  outcry  at  his  birth',  are  circumstances  too  notable  to 
be  passed  over  in  silence,  and  extremely  suitable  to  this  king  of  terroi-s. — Adpison's  de- 
scription of  Milton's  Figure  of  Death. 

h.  Life  consists  not  of  a  series  of  illustrious  actions'  or  elegant  enjoyments^  ;5  the  great- 
er part  of  our  time  pa.-^ses  in  compliance  with  necessities\  in  the  performance  of  daily  du- 
ties', in  the  removal  of  small  inconveniences',  in  the  procurement  of  petty  pleasures.— 
Johnson. 

c.  The  ill-natured  man,  though  but  of  equal  parts  with  the  good-natured  man,  gives 
himself  a  larger  field  to  expatiate^  in ;  he  exposes  those  failings  in  human  natui'e  which 
the  other  would  cast  a  veil'  over ;  laughs  at  vices  which  the  other  eitlier  excuses  or  con- 
ceals^ ;  falls  indifferently  upon  friends  or  enemies' ;  exposes  the  person  who  has  obliged' 
him  :  and,  in  short',  sticks  at  nothing  that  may  establisli  his  character  of  a  wit — Sj)ecta- 
tor.,  No.  169. 

Wlien  the  proud  steed  shall  know  why  man  restrains" 

His  fiery  course,"  or  drives  him  o'er  the  plains' ;_ 

"When  the  dull  ox,~why  now  he  treads  tlie  clod. 

Is  now  a  victim,"  and  now  I'gypt's  god' : 

Tlien  shall  man's  pride  and  dviUness  comprehend 
d.  His  actions',  passions',  being's'  use  and  end' : 
d.  Why  doing',  suffering',  check'd',  impell'd^ — and  why 

This  hour  a  slave',  tlie  next  a  deity'. 

As  no  faculty  of  the  mind  Is  capable  of  more  improvement  than  the  memory',2  so  none 
is  in  more  danger  of  decay  by  disuse'. 

Is  the  goodness'  or  ivisdom'*  of  the  Divine  Being  more  manifest  in  this  his  proceed- 
ings' ?3 

Is  the  power'  or  greatness'  of  the  Divine  Being  manifest  in  this  his  pix)ceedings'  ? 
(Rule  v..  Note  II.) 

Whither  sliall  I  turn'  ?3  Wretch  that  I  am'  !2  to  what  place  shall  I  betake^  myself  ?3 
Shall  I  go  to  the  Capitol'  ?i    Alas  !  it  is  overflowed  with  my  brother's  blood'.     Or  shall  I 

a.  a.  a.  These  are  exampless  of  commencing  series. 

b.  This  contains  an  example  of  a  concludimj  series,  in  which  all  the  particulars,  except 
the  lixt  but  ow^  have  the  falling  inflection. 

c.  This  contains  an  example  of  a  concluding  series,  in  which  all  the  particulars  have 
the  falling  inflection,  because  the  concluding  member  has  a  pau?e  with  the  rising  inflec- 
tion before  the  eid. 

d.  d.  Examples  of  the  concluding  peries.  Observe  in  this  extract  numerous  examples 
of  the  pau-ie  of  .<uspen-ion,  i.i  which  the  voice  preserver  a  monotone. 


.40  WILLSOn's  fifth  reader.  Part  1 

retire  to  my  house^  l^a    Yet  there  I  behold  my  mother  plunged  in  misery,  weeping  and 
de.-*pairlng\ 

Virtue  is  of  intrinsic  value  and  good  desert,  and  of  indispensable  obligation;  not  the 
creature  of  will',  but  necesHary  and  immutable^  ;6  not  local  or  temporary',  but  of  equal  ex- 
tent and  antiquity  with  the  divine  mind* ;«  not  a  mode  of  gcnsation',  but  everlasting 
truth^  ;6  not  dependent  on  power',  but  the  guide  of  all  powers  Virtue  is  the  foundation 
of  honor  and  edteem\  and  the  source  of  all  beauty',  order',  and  happiness'  in  nature\ 
Though  gentle',  yet  not  duir : 
Strong',  without  rage^ ;  without  o'erflowiug',  f uir.  6— Denuam. 

But,  waiving  all  other  circumstances,  let  ua  balance  the  real  situation  of  the  opposing 
parties  ;  from  that  we  can  form  a  true  notion  how  very  low  our  enemies  are  reduced. 
Here,  regard  to  virtue'  opposes  insensibility  to  shame^  ;6  purity',  pollution' ;  integrity', 
injustice' ;  virtue',  villainy' ;«  resolution',  rage' ;  dignity',  defilement^ ;  regularity',  riot\6 
On  one  side  are  ranged  equity',  temperance',  courage',  prudence',  and  every  virtue^  ; 
on  the  other',  iniquity\  luxury\  cowardice',  rashness',  with  every  vice\  I^astly',  the 
strug^'le  lies  between  wealth'  and  M'ant' ;  the  dignity'  and  degeneracy^  of  reason  ;6  the 
force'  and  the  phrensy^  of  the  soul ;  between  well-grounded  hope'  and  widely-extended 
despair^  In  such  a  strife',^  in  such  a  struggle  as  this',**  even  though  the  zeal  of  men 
were  wanting',  must  not  the  immortal  gods  give  such  shining  virtues  the  superiority  over 
so  great  and  such  complicated  vices'  ?i     Certainly',  i — Cicero's  Oration  against  Catiline. 

b.  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mi«?i\ 
As  to  be  hated'  needs  but  to  be  seen^ ; 

6.  Yet  seen  too  off,  familiar  with  her  face', 

c.  We  first  endure\  then  pity',  then  embrace\ 

But  where  th'  extreme  of  vice'  was  ne'er  agreed^ : 
Ask  Where's  the  north^  at  York  'tis  on  the  Tweerl'  : 
No  creature  owns  it  in  the  first  degree, 
But  thinks  his  neighbor  further  gone  than  he. 
E'en  those  who  dwell  beneath  its  very  zone', 
Or  never  feel  the  I'age',  or  never  own^ : 
What  happier  natives  shrink  at  with  affright', 
The  hard  inhabitant  contends    is  right\ — Pope. 

d.  Shall  burning  Etna,"  if  a  sage  requires," 
Forget  to  thunder,  and  recall  her  fires'  ? 
On  air  or  sea  new  niotions  be  impress' d," 

O  blameless  Bethel,    to  relieve  thy  breast'  ? 
When  tliis  loose  mountain  trembles  from  on  high," 
Shall  gravitation  cesise,    while  you  go  by'  ? 
Or  some  old  temple,    m-dding  to  its  fall," 
For  Chartres'  head  reserve  tlie  hanging  wall'  f — Pope, 
I  knew  when  seven  justices  could  not  make  up  a  quarrel ;  but  when  the  parties  were 
met  themselves,  one  of  them  thought  but  of  an  if  ^ :  as  if  you  said  sii,  then  I  said  so : " 
and  they  shook  hands',  and  were  sworn  brothers'* — Suakspeabk. 

This  thy  vaunt : 
"  Give  death  his  due\  the  icretched',  and  the  old} ; 
"  Let  him  not  violate  kind  nature*  x  laws', 
"  But  own  man  born  to  livc'^  as  well  as  die'." 
Wretched  and  old  thou  fi'^veat  him' ;  young  and  gay 
Ho  takes'' ;  and  plunder  is  a  tyrant's  joy. 

What,  Tubero,  did  that  naked  sword*  of  yours  mean  in  the  battle  of  Pharsalia*  ?  At 
whose  breast^  was  its  point  aimed'  ?  What  was  then  the  meaning  of  your  arms',  your 
spirit^  your  eyes',  your  hands',  your  ardor  of  soul'  ?  What  did  you  desiro',  what  wish^ 
for  ?  I  press  the  youth  too  much ;  ho  seems  disturbed.  Let  mo  return  to  mysclt  I  too 
bore  arms  on  the  samu  side\ — CioEua 

What  is  time}  f 
T  asked  a  spirit  lost^ !  but  on  the  shriek 
That  pierced  my  soul' !  I  shudder  while  I  speak — 

a.  The  application  of  the  Fifth  l?ule  here  will  be  very  apparent  if  the  preceding  sen- 
tence C-*^  Alas  !"  etc.)  be  stricken  out. 

6.  b.  The  word  vuni^  lioing  cnipliatic,  must  have  the  falling  inflection  :  so  also  oft. 

c.  This  line  well  illuntrales  tlio  beauty  of  the  rule  relating  to  a  coneludirvt  (uries. 

d.  The  pause  of  suspension  in  this  extract  denotes  a  sameness  of  voice,  or  monotone, 
wherever  it  is  used. 

e.  The  falling  inflection  throughout  this  exampli'  is  nearly  allli^d  fo  iho  cWrumtifx- 


p^RX  I.  ELOCUTIONARY.  41 

a.  It  cried,  "  A  particle^— a  speck^—s.  mite^ 

Of  endless  years',  duration  infinite!"— IVIahsden. 
The  cloud-capp'd  toAvers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 

b.  Yea,  all  lohich  it  inherit\  shall  dissolve; 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.— Shakspeake. 

Parting  day 
Dies  like  the  dolphin,  whom  each  pang  imbues 
"With  a  new  color,  as  it  gasps  away,  _ 

c.  The  last  still  loveliest,  till— 'ft's  gone   and  all  is  gray. 
(I  High  on  a  throne  of  royal  state,  which  far 

Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  or  of  Ind  ; 

Or  where  the  gorgeous  East,  with  richest  hand, 

Show'rs,  on  her  kings  barbaric,  pearl  and  gold, 

Satan  exalted  sat. — Milton. 
e.  O  my  soul's  joy M 

If  after  every  tempest  come  stich  calms'. 

May  the  winds  blow  till  they  have  Avaken'd  death'  I 
€.  Ojoy'*!  thou  welcome  stranger M  twice  three  years 

I  have  not  felt  thy  vital  beam^ ;  but  now 

It  warms  my  veins',  and  plays  about  my  heart^ : 

A  fiery  instinct  lifts  me  from  the  ground, 

And  I  could  mount — 
/.  I  am  not  mad^ — I  would  to  heaven  I  were^  I 

For  then  'tis  like  I  ahould  forget  myself  : 

Oh  if  I  could,  what  ginef  should  I  forget  I 
g.  That  strain  again^ !  it  had  a  dying  falP ! 

Oh,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  south, 

That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets. 

Stealing  and  giving  odor. 

The  beauty  of  a  plain',  the  greatness  of  a  mountain',  the  ornaments  of  a  building',  the 
expression  of  a  picture',  the  composition  of  a  discourse',  the  conduct  of  a  third  person', 
the  proportion  of  different  quantities  and  numbers',  the  various  appearances  which  the 
great  machine  of  the  universe  is  perpetually  exhibiting',  the  secret  wheels  and  springs 
which  produce  them',  all  the  general  subjects  of  science  and  taste',  are  what  we  and  otu- 
companions  regard  as  having  no  peculiar  relation  to  either'  of  us.'> 

TO-MORROW. 

To-moiTow  didst  thou  say'  ? 
-    Methought  I  heard  Horatio  say  to-morrow' ; 
i.  Go  to\  I  will  not  hear'  of  it ;  to-morrow' ! 

'Tis  a  sharper,  Avho  stakes  his  penury' 

Against  thy  plenty' ;  who  takes  thy  ready  cash. 

And  pays  thee  naught  but  wishes,  hopes,  and  promises'. 

The  currency  of  idiots' ;  injurious  bankrupt, 
i.  That  gulls  the  easy  creditor.     To-morrow' ! 

a.  This  is  an  example  of  intensive  emphasis,  which  rises  into  a  climax  at  mite. 

b.  This  also  requires  a  gradually  risiug  pitch  of  the  voice  on  each  successive  member 
to  the  acme  of  the  passage ;  then,  by  a  gradual  descent,  the  voice  should  return  to  its  ordi- 
nary level. 

c.  Rhetorical  pause  of  suspension. 

d.  Rule  XII.,  the  monotone. 

e.  e.  Unexpected  joy,  which  elevates  the  voice  to  the  highest  pitch. 

/.  Extreme  sorrow,  which  also  raises  the  voice  to  a  high  pitch.  In  the  second  line  the 
voice  should  fall  partially;  and  in  the  third  line  it  should  be  still  lower,  but  very  forcible. 

g.  Here  is  an  example  of  pleasing  melancholy,  which  adopts  a  slow  pronunciation,  and 
a  soft,  low  tone.     The  last  three  lines  should  be  spoken  in  a  monotone. 

These  examples  show  that  in  exclamatory  sentences  the  tone  of  the  passion  should  reg- 
ulate the  tone  of  the  voice. 

h.  The  reader  would  also  do  well  to  consider  the  particulars  in  this  series  as  emphatic, 
and  read  the  whole  as  a  concluding  seties. 

i.  i.  Where  exclamatory  sentences  luive  the  character  of  direct  questions,  they  receive 
the  rising  inflection.     Rule  X.,  Note. 


42  WILLS0N*8  FIFTH   READER.  Part  I. 

It  ia  a  period  nowhere  to  be  found 

In  all  the  hoary  n-gistera  of  Time\ 

Unless  perchance  in  the  fooVti  calendar. 

Wisdom  disclainiti  tlie  word,  nor  Jiolds  society 

With  those  who  own*  it.     No\  ray  Horatio', 

'Tia  Fancifs  cliild\  and  Folly  is  its  father* ; 

Wrought  of  such  «tuflf  as  dreams^  are,  and  as  baseless 

As  the  fantastic  visions  of  the  evening Cotton. 

The  bell  strikes  one.     We  take  no  note  of  time 

But  from  its  loss  :  to  give  it  tlien  a  tongue 

Is  wise  in  man.     As  if  an  angel  spoke, 

I  feel  the  solemn  sound.     If  heard  aright, 

It  is  the  knell  of  my  departed  hoCir^. 

Where  are*  they  ?    With  the  years  beyond  the  flood. 

It  is  the  signal  that  demands  dispatch  : 

How  much  is  to  be  done !     My  hopes  and  fears 

Start  up  alarmed,  and  o'er  life's  narrow  verge 

Look  down — on  what*?    A  fathomless  abyss! 

A  dread  eternity* !  how  surely  mine  I 

And  can  eternity  belong  to  me, 

Poor  pensioner  on  the  bounties  of  an  hour'  ? — ^Youno. 

a.  There  are  tears*  for  his  love';  joy*  for  his  fortune';  honor^  for  his  valor';  and  deatjj' 
for  his  ambition*. 

a.  There  -ve  tears  for  his  love* ;  joy"  for  his  fortune* ;  honor"  for  his  valor* ;  and  deaW 
for  his  ambition*. 

b.  Do  you  think  he  will  come  to-day'  ? 

Do  you  think  he  will  come  to-day'?  said  John'. 
Am  I  my  brother's  keeper'  ?  said  the  unhappy  man'. 

b.  Where  are  you  going*  ? 

Where  are  you  going*  ?  eaid  John'. 

c.  For  Heaven's*  sake,  Hubert',  let  me  not  be  bound' ! 
Nay',  hear^  me,  Hubert' !  drive  these  men  aicay\ 
And  I  will  sit  as  quiet  as  a  lamb'' ; 

I  will  not  sti7-\  nor  wiiwe\  nor  speak  a  word*, 

Nor  look\  upon  the  irons  angrily'; 

Thrust  but  these  men  aicmj',  and  I'll  forgive'^  you, 

W/iatever  torment  you  do  put  me  to'. 
Shylock.  He  hath  disgraced'^  me,  and  hindered  me  of  half  a  million^ ;  laughed  at  my 
losses*,  viocked  at  my  gains*,  scortied  my  nation*,  thicarted  my  bargains*,  cooled  my 
friends*,  heated  mine  enemies* ;  and  what's  his  reason^  t  I  am  a  Jew^ !  Hath  not  a  Jew 
dyea't  hath  not  a  Jew  hdiuU\  drgans\  dhnhmons\  sitise«\  affMiotut',  pdssumg'  T  fed 
with  the  same  food',  hurt  with  the  same  ioeapon8\  subject  to  the  same  diseases',  heated 
by  the  same  nifiaris',  wanned  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  summer  as  a  Christian 
is'  ?  if  you  prick''  us,  do  we  not  bl(<ed'  T  if  you  tickle^  us,  do  we  not  U\ugh'  t  if  you  poison" 
us,  do  we  not  d)e'  f  and  if  you  ivrung^  us,  shall  we  not  revenge'  ?  if  we  are  like  you  in  the 
rent',  we  will  resemble  you  in  tlmt.  If  a  Jew''  wrong  a  Chr'iiitian',  what  is  his  /lumility^  T 
revenge"^ ;  if  a  C/iriatian^  wrong  a  Jew',  what  should  his  siiferance^  be  by  tUiristian  er- 
amj)le>  f  why,  revenge\  Tlie  villainy  you  teach*  me'  I  will  execute" ;  and  it  shall  go  hard" 
but  I  will  better^  the  instruction. 


a.  a.  See  Note  to  Rule  VIII.  Here  are  two  different  readings  of  the  same  passage,  and 
each  has  its  advocates.  The  first  rendering  supposes  that  the  words  were  spoken  with 
little  or  no  depth  of  feeling;  the  second  gives  to  them  a  considerable  degree  of  int<>nsp 
feeling  and  emphatic  solcninity.  Tiiose  who  agree  as  to  the  meaning  will  read  the  pas- 
sage alib'.  It  is  not,  therefore,  the  j)rinci>iles  of  (locution  that  are  at  fault  here,  but  the 
impossibility  of  knowing,  in  this  as  in  thousands  of  other  instances,  what  were  the  exact 
sentiments  and  emotions  of  the  speaker.     (See  also  p.  20.) 

b.  b.  Not  only  has  a  direct  question  the  rising  slide,  hut  a  succeeding  dependent  circum- 
stance takes  the  rising  slide  also.  A  dependent  circumstance  following  an  indirect  ques- 
tion also  takes  the  rising  slide.  The  principle  in  Inith  cases  will  bo  made  appnrsnt,  as 
already  explained,  Iby  restoring  the  natural  order  of  the  sentences.     Thus : 

John  said',  do  you  think  he  will  come  to-day'  ? 
John  said',  wliere  are  you  going*? 
For  the  Inflection  after  ''said,"  see  Rule  II. 

c.  Thii  is  spoken  tlirougliout  in  the  tone  of  plaintive  enti*eaty 


FIEST  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 


LESSON   I. — GREEN  EIVER. 

1.  When  breezes  are  soft  and  skies  are  fair, 
I  steal  an  hour  from  study  and  care, 
And  hie  me  away  to  the  woodland  scene,      -» 
Where  wanders  the  stream  with  waters  of  green, 
As  if  the  bright  fringe  of  herbs  on  its  brink 
Had  given  their  stain  to  the  wave  they  drink  ; 
And  they,  whose  meadows  it  murmurs  tln-ough, 
Have  named  the  stream  from  its  own  fair  hue. 


44  willson's  fifth  reader. 

2.  How  pure  its  waters  !  its  shallows  are  bright 
With  colored  pebbles  and  sparkles  of  light, 
And  clear  the  depths  where  its  eddies  play, 
And  dimples  deepen  and  whirl  away. 

Oh,  loveliest  there  the  spring  days  come, 
With  blossoms,  and  birds,  and  wild  bees'  hum ; 
The  flowers  of  summer  are  fairest  there, 
And  freshest  the  breath  of  the  summer  air ; 
And  sweetest  the  golden  autumn  day 
In  silence  and  sunshine  glides  away. 

3.  Yet,  fiiir  as  thou  art,  thou  shunnest  to  glide, 
Beautiful  stream  !  by  the  village  side ; 
But  windest  away  from  haunts  of  men. 

To  quiet  valley  and  shaded  glen  ; 
And  forest,  and  meadow,  and  slope  of  hill, 
Around  thee,  are  lonely,  lovely,  and  still. 
Lonely,"  save  when,  by  thy  rippling  tides. 
From  thicket  to  thicket  the  angler  glides ; 
Or  the  simpler  comes  with  basket  and  book, 
For  herbs  of  power  on  thy  banks  to  look ; 
Or  haply,  some  idle  dreamer,  like  me, 
To  wander,  and  muse,  and  gaze  on  thee. 
Still,"  save  the  chirp  of  birds  that  feed 
On  the  river  cherry  and  seedy  reed. 
And  thy  own  wild  music  gushing  out 
With  mellow  murmur  and  fairy  shout, 
From  dawn  to  the  blush  of  another  da}', 
Like  traveler  singing  along  his  way. 

4.  I  often  come  to  this  quiet  place, 

To  breathe  the  airs  that  ruffle  thy  face, 

And  gaze  upon  thee  in  silent  dream, 

For  in  thy  lonely  and  lovely  stream 

An  image  of  that  calm  life  appears 

That  won  my  heart  in  my  greener  years. — Bbtant. 


LESSON   II. — THE   BEST  KIND   OF   REVENGE. 

1.  Some  years  ago,  a  warehouseman  in  IManchester,  En- 
gland, published  a  scurrilous^  ])amphlet,  in  which  he  endeav- 
ored to  hold  up  the  house  of  Grant  Brothers  to  ridicule. 
William  Grant  remarked  ujion  the  occurrence  that  the  man 
would  live  to  repent  what  he  had  done;  and  this  was  con- 
veyed by  some  tale-bearer  to  the  libelcr,^  who  said, "  Oh,  I  sup- 
pose he  thinks  I  shall  some  time  or  other  be  in  his  debt ;  but 
I  will  take  good  care  of  that."  It  happens,  however,  that  a 
man  in  business  can  not  always  choose  who  shall  be  his  cred- 
itors.3  The  pamphleteer  became  a  bankrupt,*  and  the  broth- 
ers held  an  acceptance*  of  his  which  had  been  indorsed^  to 
them  by  the  drawer,*^  who  had  also  become  a  bankrupt. 


FIRST   MISCELLANEOUS    DIVISION.  45 

2.  The  wantonly-libeled  men  had  thus  become  creditors  of 
the  libeler !  They  now  had  it  in  their  power  to  make  him 
repent  of  his  audacity.  He  could  not  obtain  his  certificate 
without  their  signature,  and  without  it  he  could  not  enter 
into  business  again.  He  had  obtained  the  number  of  signa- 
tures required  by  the  bankrupt  law  except  one.  It  seemed 
folly  to  hope  that  the  firm  of  "  the  brothers"  would  supply 
the  deficiency.  What !  they,  who  had  cruelly  been  made  the 
laughing-stocks  of  the  public,  forget  the  wrong  and  favor  the 
wrong-doer  ?  He  despaired.  But  the  claims  of  a  wife  and 
children  forced  him  at  last  to  make  the  application.  Hum- 
bled by  misery,  he  presented  himself  at  the  counting-house 
of  the  wropged. 

3.  Mr.  William  Grant  was  there  alone,  and  his  first  words 
to  the  delinquent  were,  "  Shut  the  door,  sir !" — sternly  utter- 
ed. The  door  was  shut,  and  the  libeler  stood  trembling  be- 
fore the  libeled.  He  told  his  tale,  and  produced  his  certifi- 
cate, which  was  instantly  clutched  by  the  injured  merchant. 
"  You  wrote  a  pamphlet  against  us  once !"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Grant.  The  supplicant  expected  to  see  his  parchment  thrown 
into  the  fire.  But  this  was^  not  its  destination.  Mr.  Grant 
took  a  pen,  and,  writing  something  upon  the  document,  hand- 
ed it  back  to  the  bankrupt.  He,  poor  wretch !  expected  to 
see  "  rogue,  scoundrel,  libeler"  inscribed,  but  there  was,  in  fair 
round  characters,  the  signature  of  the  firm. 

4.  "We  make  it  a  rule,"  said  Mr.  Grant,  "never  to  refuse 
signing  the  certificate  of  an  honest  tradesman,  and  we  have 
never  heard  that  you  were  any  thing  else."  The  tears  start- 
ed into  the  poor  man's  eyes.  "Ah!"  said  Mr.  Grant,  "my 
saying  was  true.  I  said  you  would  live  to  repent  writing 
that  pamphlet.  I  did  not  mean  it  as  a  threat.  I  only  meant 
that  some  day  you  would  know  us  better,  and  be  sorry  you 
had  tried  to  injure  us.  I  see  you  repent  of  it  now."  "  I  do, 
I  do !"  said  the  grateful  man  ;  "  I  bitterly  repent  it."  "  Well, 
well,  my  dear  fellow,  you  know  us  now.  How  do  you  get 
on?  What  are  you  going  to  do?".  The  poor  man  stated 
that  he  had  friends  who  could  assist  him  when  his  cei^ificate 
was  obtained.     "  But  how  are  you  ofi"  in  the  mean  time  ?" 

5.  And  the  answer  was,  that,  having  given  up  every  far- 
thing to  his  creditors,  he  had  been  compelled  to  stint  his  fam- 
ily of  even  common  necessities,  that  he  might  be  enabled  to 
pay  the  cost  of  his  certificate.  "  My  dear  fellow,  this  will 
not  do  ;  your  family  must  not  sufiTer.  Be  kind  enough  to  take 
this  ten-pound  note  to  your  wife  from  me.  ^  There,  there,  my 


46 

dear  fellow !  Nay,  don't  cry ;  it  will  be  all  well  with  you 
yet.  Keep  up  your  spirits,  set  to  work  like  a  man,  and  you 
will  raise  your  head  among  us  yet."  The  overpovv^ered  man 
endeavored  in  vain  to  express  his  thanks :  the  swelling  in  his 
throat  forbade  words.  He  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  face, 
and  went  out  of  the  door  crying  like  a  child. — Chambers. 

1  Sgub'-bil-ous,  groasly  abusive.  l^  A€-okpt'-ance,  in  commerce,  is  the  accep'- 

a  LT'-BBL-EB,  one  who,  in  a  written  article,     ing  or  signing  of  a  bill  or  order,  bo  as  to 

wantonly  injures  the  reputation  of  another.  |    bind  the  acceptor  to  make  payment 
3  Cekd'-it-ob,  one  to  whom  another  is  in-  6  In-d6b8e',  to  write  one's  name  on  the  baclc 

debted.  of  a  note,  etc. ,  so  as  to  become  liable  to  pay 

♦  Bank'-eupt,  one  who  can  not  pay  hia  debts,     it. 


Dbaw'-eb,  the  maker  of  a  note. 


LESSON    III.— A   MODEST   WIT. 

1.  A  supercilious'  nabob'  of  the  East — 

Haughty,  being  great — purse-proud,  being  rich  — 
A  governor,  or  general,  at  the  least, 

I  have  forgotten  which — 
Had  in  his  family  a  humble  youth, 

Who  went  from  England  in  his  patron's '  suite, 
An  unassuming  boy,  and  in  truth 

A  lad  of  decent  parts,  and  good  repute. 

2.  This  youth  had  sense  and  spirit ; 

But  yet,  witli  all  his  sense. 
Excessive  diffidence 
Obscured  his  merit. 

3.  One  day,  at  table,  flush'd  with  pride  and  wine. 

His  honor,  proudly  free,  severely  merry, 
Conceived  it  would  be  vastly  fine 
To  crack  a  joke  upon  his  secretary.* 

4.  "Young  man',''  he  said,  "by  what  art\  cruft\  or  trade', 

Did  your  good  father'  gain  a  livelihood  ?" — 
"He  was  a  saddler\  sir,"  Modestus  said, 
"And  in  his  time  was  reckon'd  g6od." 

6.   "  A  saddler\  oh' !  and  taught  you  Greek, 
Instead  of  teaching  you  to  sew'  !* 
Pray,  why  did  not  your  father  make 
A  saddler,  sir,  of  you'  ?" 

6.  Each  parasite,*  then,  as  in  duty  bound. 

The  joke  applauded,  and  the  laugh  went  roun  1. 

At  length  Modestus,  bowing  low, 
Said  (craving  pardon  if  too  free  he  made), 

"  Sir,  by  your  leave,  I  fain  would  know 
Yoiir^  father's  trade !" 

7.  ^^  My  father's  tTa.dc' I  by  heaven,  that's  too  bad ! 

My  father'^  trade'  ?     Why,  blockhead,  arc  you  mad  'f 


FIRST   MISCELLANEOUS    DIVISION. 


47 


My  father,  sir,  did  never  stoop  so  low — 
He  was  a  gentleman,  I'd  have  you  know."' 

"Excuse  the  liberty  I  take," 

Modestus  said,  with  archness  on  his  brow, 
"Pray,  why  did  not  your  father  make 

A  gentleman  ofyou^?'^ — Anon. 


t  Stt-pek-otl'-i-ous,  lofty  with  pride. 

2  Na'-bob,  a  man  of  great  wealth. 

3  Pa' -TfiON,  a  guardian  or  protector. 


4  Se€'-eb-ta-ey,  one  employed  to  write  let- 
ters ;  a  chief  clerk. 

5  Skw,  pronounced  so. 

6  Pae'-a-site,  a  sycophant ;  flatterer. 


LESSON   IV. — THE   ELOQUENCE   OP   ACTION. 

1.  When  public  bodies  are  to  be  addressed  on  momentous 
occasions,  when  great  interests  are  at  stake  and  strong  passions 
excited,  nothing  is  valuable  in  speech  further  than  it  is  con- 
nected with  high  intellectual  and  moral  endowments.  Clear- 
ness, force,  and  earnestness  are  the  qualities  which  produce 
conviction.  True  eloquence,  indeed,  does  not  consist  in  speech. 
It  can  not  be  brought  from  far.  Labor  and  learning  may  toil 
for  it',  but  they  will  toil  in  vain\  Words  and  phrases  may 
be  marshaled  in  every  way',  but  they  can  not  compass^  it.  It 
must  exist  in  the  man\  in  the  subject',  and  in  the  occasion\ 
AiFected  passion\  intense  expression^  the  pomp  of  declama- 
tion\  all  may  aspire  after  it' — they  can  not  reach^  it.  It 
comes,  if  it  come  at  all,  like  the  outbreaking  of  a  fountain 
from  the  earth,  or  the  bursting  forth  of  volcanic  fires,  with 
spontaneous,  original  native  force. 

2.  The  graces  taught  in  the  schools,  the  costly  ornaments 
and  studied  contrivances  of  speech,  shock  and  disgust  men 
when  their  own  lives,  and  the  fate  of  their  wives,  their  chil- 
dren, and  their  country,  hang  on  the  decision  of  the  hour. 
Then,  words  have  lost  their  power,  rhetoric  is  vain,  and  all 
elaborate  oratory  contemptible.  Even  genius  itself  then  feels 
rebuked  and  subdued,  as  in  the  presence  of  higher  qualities. 
Then,  patriotism  is  eloquent ;  then,  self-devotion  is  eloquent. 
The  clear  conception,  outrunning  the  deductions  of  logic,  the 
high  purpose,  the  firm  resolve,  the  dauntless  spirit,  speaking 
on  the  tongue,  beaming  from  the  eye,  informing  every  feature, 
and  urging  the  whole  man  onward,  right  onward,  to  his  ob- 
ject— this,  this  is  eloquence  ;  or,  rather,  it  is  something  great- 
er and  higher  than  all  eloquence — it  is  action,  noble,  sublime, 
godlike  action  ! — Daniel  Webster. 


48  willson's  fifth  reader. 


LESSON    V. USE   PLAIN  LANGUAGE. 

1.  What  do  you  say'?  What'?  I  really  do  not  under- 
stand^ you.  Be  so  good  as  to  explain^  yourself  again.  Upon 
my  word,  I  do  not !  Oh!  now  I  know :  you  mean  to  tell  me 
it  is  a  cold  day.  Why  did  you  not  say  at  once,  "  It  is  cold^ 
to-day  ?"  If  you  wish  to  inform  me  it  rains  or  snows',  pray 
say, "  It  rains\"  "  It  snows^ ;"  or,  if  you  think  I  look  well', 
and  you  choose  to  comphment  me',  say, "  I  think  you  look 
Aveir."  "  But,"  you  answer,  "  that  is  so  common  and  so  plain, 
and  what  every  body  can  say."  "  Well,  and  what  if  every 
body  can  ?  Is  it  so  great  a  misfortune  to  be  understood  when 
one  speaks,  and  to  speak  like  the  rest  of  the  world'  ? 

2.  I  will  tell  you  what,  my  friend — you  do  not  suspect  it, 
and  I  shall  astonish  you — but  you,  and  those  like  you,  want 
common  sense  !  Nay,  this  is  not  all ;  it  is  not  only  in  the  di- 
rection of  your  wants  that  you  are  in  fault,  but  of  your  super- 
fluities ;  you  have  too  much  conceit ;  you  possess  an  opinion 
that  you  have  more  sense  than  others.  That  is  the  source  of 
all  your  pompous  nothings^  your  cloudy  sentences^  and  your 
big  words  without  a  meaning.  Before  you  accost  a  person, 
or  enter  a  room,  let  me  pull  you  by  the  sleeve  and  whisper  in 
your  ear,  "  Do  not  try  to  show  off  your  sense :  have  none  at 
all;  that  is  your  cue.  Use  plain  language,  if  you  can;  just 
such  as  you  find  others  use,  who,  in  your  idea,  have  no  under- 
standing ;  and  then,  perhaps,  you  will  get  credit  for  having 
some." — La  Bruykke. 


LESSON  VI. — ^THE  three  black  crows. 

[It  must  be  rempmbored  that  where  the  circumflex  Is  used  (" ")  in  the  rcadituj  lesmiut^ 
it  does  not  designate  the  character  of  the  vowel  sound,  but  the  nature  of  the  injicction.] 

1 .  Two  honest  tradesmen  meeting  in  the  Strand," 
One  took  the  other  briskly  by  the  hand^ : 
"  Hark  ye\"  said  he',  "  'tis  an  odd  story  this, 
About  the  crows' !"     "I  don't  know  what  it  is\" 
Replied  his  friend.     *'  No'?  I'm  suqnised'  at  that ; 
Where  /  come  from',  it  is  the  common  chat : 
But  you  shall  hear^ :   an  odd  aflair  indeed*  1 
And  that  it  happened,  they  are  all  agreed  : 
Not  to  detain  you  from  a  thing  so  strange', 
A  gentleman',  that  lives  not  far  from  'Change', 
This  week',  in  short',  as  all  the  alley  Jcnows'^ 
Taking  a  puke',  has  thrown  up  three    black    crous.' 


FIEST   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  49 

2.  ''Impossible^ !"     " Nay,  but  it's  really  true^ ; 
I  had  it  from  good  hands,  and  so  may  you." 

"  From  whose\  I  pray^  ?"     So,  having  named  the  man, 

Straight  to  inquire  his  curious  comrade  ran. 

*'  Sir',  did  you  tell'" — relating  the  affair — 

"  Yes\  sir',  I  did^ ;  and  if  it's  worth  your  care, 

Ask  Mr.  Such-a-one^ ;  he  told  it  me ; 

But,  by-the-by,  'twas  two''  black  crows,  not  three'." 

3.  Eesolved  to  trace  so  wondrous  an  event. 
Whip  to  the  third  the  virtuoso  went. 

"  Sir" — and  so  forth — "  Why,  yes ;  the  thing  is  fact. 

Though  in  regard  to  number  not  exact ; 

It  was  not  two  black  crows' ;  'twas  only  one' ; 

The  truth  of  that  you  may  depend'  upon : 

The  gentleman  himself  told  me  the  case." 

"Where'  may  I  find'  him  ?"     "Why,  in  such  a  place." 

4.  Away  he  goes,  and  having  found  him  out — 
"  Sir,  be  so  good  as  to  resolve  a  doubt." 
Then  to  his  last  informant  he  referred, 

And  begged  to  know  if  true  what  he  had  heard. 

"Did  you,  sir,  throw  up  a  black  crow' ?"     " Not'  I' !" 

"Bless'  me!  how  people  propagate  a  lie^ ! 

Black  crows  have  been  thrown  up,  three,  two,  and  one, 

And  here  I  find  at  last  all  comes  to  none  ! 

Did  you  say  nothing  of  a  crow  at  all'?" 

"  Crow — crow — perhaps  I  might',  now  I  recall 

The  matter  over'."     "And  pray,  sir,  what  was't?" 

"Why,  I  was  horrid  sick,  and,  at  the  last, 

I  did"  throw  up,  and  told  my  neighbor^  so. 

Something  that  was  as  black,  sir,  as  a  crow.^^ — Byrom. 


LESSON   VII. — WHAT  IS   A   GENTLEMAN? 

1.  A  GENTLEMAN  is  just  a  gentle-jn^oi ;  no  more,  no  less ;  a 
diamond  polished,  that  was  first  a  diamond  in  the  rough.  A 
gentleman  is  gentle.  A  gentleman  is  modest.  A  gentleman 
is  courteous.  A  gentleman  is  generous.  A  gentleman  is 
slow  to  take  offense,  as  being  one  that  never  gives  it.  A  gen- 
tleman is  slow  to  surmise  evil,  as  being  one  that  never  thinks 
it.  A  gentleman  goes  armed  only  in  consciousness  of  right. 
A  gentleman  subjects  his  appetites.  A  gentleman  refines  his 
taste.  A  gentleman  subdues  his  feelings.  A  gentleman 
deems  every  other  better  than  himself. 

2.  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  never  so  much  a  gentleman — mir- 
ror though  he  was  of  England's  knighthood — as  when,  upon 
the  field  of  Zutphen,  as  he  lay  in  his  own  blood,  he  waived 
the  draught  of  cold  spring  water  that  was  brought  to  quench 


50  willson's  fifth  keadee. 

his  mortal  thirst  in  favor  of  a  dying  soldier.  St.  Paul  de- 
scribed a  gentleman  when  he  exhorted  the  Philippian  Chris- 
tians :  "  Whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are 
pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of 
good  report,  if  there  be  any  virtue,  and  if  there  be  any  praise, 
think  on  these  things." — G.  W.  Doane. 


LESSON   yni.— WHAT  IS   TIME  ? 

1.  I  ASKED  an  aged  man,  a  man  of  cares, 
Wrinkled  and  curved,  and  white  with  hoary  hairs ; 
"  Time  is  the  wai-p  of  life,"  he  said  :   "oh  tell 
The  young,  the  fair,  the  gay,  to  weave  it  welU" 

I  asked  the  ancient  venerable  dead\ 
Sages  who  wrote',  and  warriors  who  bled' ; 
From  the  cold  grave  a  hollow  murmur  flowed," 
"  Time  sowed  the  seed  we  reap  in  this  abode  I" 

2.  I  asked  a  dying  sinner,  ere  the  tide 

Of  life  had  left  his  veins :   "  Time !"  he  replied, 
'TvelostWt!  ah!  the  treasure M"  and  he  died. 
I  asked  the  golden  sun,  and  silver  spheres. 
Those  bright  chronometers  of  days  and  years : 
They  answered,  "  Time  is  but  a  meteor  glare !" 
And  bade  us  for  eternity  prepare. 

3.  I  asked  a  spirit  lost' ;  but  oh~  the  shriek 

That  pierced  my  soul' !     I  shudder  while  I  speak ! 

It  cried,  "A  particle' !  a  speck' !  a  mite 

Of  endless  years,  duration  infinite  !" 

Of  things  inanimate,  my  dial  I 

Consulted,  and  it  made  me  this  reply  : 

"Time  is  the  season  fiur  of  living  well', 

The  path  of  glory',  or  the  path  of  hell'." 

4.  I  asked  old  Father  Time  himself,  at  last, 
But  in  a  moment  he  flew  swiftly  past ; 
His  chariot  was  a  cloud,  the  viewless  wind 
His  noiseless  steeds,  which  left  no  trace  behind. 

I  asked  the  mighty  angel,  who  shall  stand  • 

One  foot  on  sea,  and  one  on  solid  land ; 
*'  By  heavens  !"  he  cried,  *'  I  swear  the  mystery's  o'er; 
Time  was,"  he  cried,  "  but  time  shall  be  no  more  !" 

Marsden. 

Tiara  is  the  cradle  of  hope',  but  the  grave  of  ambition';  the  salutary 
counselor  of  the  wise',  but  the  stern  corrector  of  fools'.  Wisdom  walks  be- 
fore it',  opportunity  with  it',  and  repentance  behind'  it :  he  that  has  made 
it  his  friend',  will  have  little  to  fear  from  his  enemies';  but  he  that  has 
made  it  his  enemy',  will  have  but  little  to  hope  from  his  friends'. — Lacon. 


Part  n. 


HiSBPETOLOGY,  OE   EEPTILES. 


51 


PAET  11. 

TfflRD  DIVISION  OF  ZOOLOGY; 


EMBRACING 


HERPETOLOGY, 

OR  THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  REPTILES. 

[For  the  1st  and  2d  Divisions  of  Zoology,  see  Third  and  Fourth  Readers.] 


Representatives  of  the  foub  okpebs  of  the  Keptile  Race. — The  Lizard ;  the  Fresh- 
water Terrapin,  or  Turtle ;  the  Adder;  and  a  South  American  Frog,  with  "  homed  eyelids." 

LESSON"   I. — INTEODUCTORY  VIEW. 

1.  The  two  divisions  of  animal  life  already  described  in  the 
Third  and  Fourth  Readers  embrace  the  Mammalia  and  the 
Birds,  which  are  called  the  warm-blooded  Vertebrates,^  be- 
cause they  have  warm  blood,  and  a  jointed  back-bone  or 
spinal  column.  The  third  division,  which  is  composed  of 
the  Reptiles,  and  the  fourth,  which  is  composed  of  the 
Fishes,  embrace  the  cold-blooded  Vertebrates,  which  are  so 
called  l3ecause  a  spinal  column,  more  or  less  apparent,^  is 
found  in  all  of  them,  and  their  natural  temperature,^  although 


52  WILLSON's    Flli^'ll    HEADER.  PaeT  II. 

their  blood  is  red,  is  but  little,  if  at  all,  above  that  of  the  at- 
mosphere or  water  in  which  they  dwell.  To  our  touch  they 
appear  decidedly  cold.  In  this  and  a  few  succeeding  lessons 
we  are  to  treat  of  Herpetology^  or  the  natural  history  of  rep- 
tiles. 

2.  "  It  can  not  be  denied,"  says  Swainson,  "  that  the  form 
which  nature  has  assumed  in  this  division  of  animal  life  is  as- 
sociated in  most  minds  with  deformity  or  with  horror.  Yet, 
however  the  bulk  of  mankind  may  turn  with  disgust  from  the 
contemplation  of  these  creatures,  the  philosophic  observer, 
who  knows  that  every  thing  which  has  proceeded  from  the 
hand  of  Omnipotence  is,  in  its  kind,  good  and  perfect,  will  pa- 
tiently investigate*  their  history,  and  will  endeavor  to  illus- 
trate, in  these  despised  and  repulsive  animals,  those  subHme 
truths  of  Unity  of  Plan,  which  are  as  perfect  and  apparent 
in  the  character  of  a  loathsome  reptile  as  in  the  formation  of 
a  Paradise-bird." 

3.  The  skeleton  of  reptiles  presents  much  greater  varia- 
tions in  structure^  than  are  found  in  the  warm-blooded  verte- 
brates. Indeed,  all  the  parts  of  which  the  skeleton  of  rep- 
tiles is  composed,  excepting  the  head  and  the  vertebrated  col- 
umn and  ribs,  are  wanting  in  one  or  another  group ;  yet  in 
such  of  the  bones  as  are  found  we  may  trace  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  the  corresponding  bones  of  mammalia  and  birds. 
Throughout  all  the  divisions  of  animal  Ufe  the  changes  of  form 
are  very  gradual. 

4.  Although  reptiles,  with  the  exception  of  amphibians^ 
during  a  part  of  their  existence,  breathe  by  means  of  lungs, 
their  circulating  apparatus  is  not  so  perfect  as  in  the  mam- 
malia and  birds ;  for  although  the  heart,  in  all  but  the  am- 
phibians,^ has  two  auricles,"^  it  has  but  one  ventricle,^  into 
which  both  of  the  auricles  open,  and  where  the  pure  and  im- 
pure blood  are  mingled,  and  then  sent  in  part  to  the  lungs, 
and  in  part  to  the  body.  The  veins  and  arteries  of  reptiles, 
therefore,  are  not  filled  with  pure  red  blood,  like  those  of  the 
mammalia  and  birds,  but  with  an  imperfect  fluid  not  so  well 
adapted  to  give  them  a  high  degree  of  life  and  vigor.  Hence, 
as  the  animal  heat  is  always  in  proportion  to  the  quantity  of 
respiration — to  the  amount  of  oxygen  or  fuel  consumed — 
reptiles  are  comparatively  cold-blooded.  Their  lungs  are 
small ;  their  circulation  is  slow ;  and  as  they  consume  loss  air 
than  the  mammalia,  they  are  capable  of  living  for  a  longer 
time  without  it. 

6.  In  all  cold-blooded  animals,  the  vital  principle  is  much 


Part  II.  herpetology,  OR  reptiles.  53 

stronger  than  in  those  whose  blood  is  warm.  Their  heart 
pulsates,  in  some  cases,  for  many  hours  after  it  has  been  re- 
moved from  the  body ;  the  tortoise  will  continue  to  live,  and 
exhibit  voluntary  motion,  for  a  considerable  time  after  having 
lost  its  head.  The  physiologist  Lewes  affirms  that  a  frog 
moved  about  voluntarily  the  day  after  he  had  removed  its 
brain ;  and  one  was  kept  alive  forty  days  after  having  been  sub- 
jected to  the  total  deprivation  of  its  lungs.  As  might  be  ex- 
pected from  the  character  of  their  blood,  its  slow  cii'culation, 
and  the  smallness  of  the  brain,  reptiles  are  in  general  sluggish 
and  indolent  in  their  habits  of  life,  and  obtuse^  in  their  sensa- 
tions ;  and  in  cold  countries  they  pass  a  great  part  of  the 
winter  in  a  dormant^^  state.  Almost  all  reptiles  are  carniv- 
orous.^^ They  produce  their  young  from  eggs,  which  they 
generally  deposit  in  warm  sandy  places,  leaving  them  to  be 
hatched  by  the  warmth  of  the  atmosphere. 

6.  Reptiles  have  been  divided,  by  most  naturalists,  into  the 
following  four  orders  or  classes :  first,  the  Chelonians^  or 
tortoises ;  second,  the  Saurians,  or  lizards,  which  embrace 
the  crocodiles ;  third,  the  Ophidians^  or  serpents ;  and  fourth, 
the  Amphibians^  which  embrace  the  frogs,  toads,  salaman- 
ders, and  sirens — animals  which  undergo  a  wonderful  trans- 
formation^2  ^^  ^  certain  period  of  their  lives,  from  the  nature 
and  habits  of  fishes  to  those  of  the  true  land  reptiles.  Think 
not  that  the  study  of  the  nature,  character,  and  habits  of  such 
creatures  is  unworthy  the  human  intellect :  they  form  links 
in  the  great  chain  of  animated  nature ;  and  the  great  whole 
of  this  most  interesting  portion  of  God's  creation  can  not  be 
understood  without  a  knowledge  of  the  parts  of  which  it  is 
composed.  We  may  well  apply  to  this  subject  Pope's  cele- 
brated lines — 

"  From  Nature's  chnin,  whatever  link  you  strike, 
Tenth  or  ten  thousandth,  breaks  the  chain  alike." 


1  Vee'-te-beate,  an  animal  having  a  spine 
with  joints. 

2  Ap-pae'-ent,  easily  seen ;  obvious. 

3  Tem'-per-a-tCbe,  state  of  a  body  with  re- 
gard to  heat  or  cold. 

*  In-veb'-ti-gate,  examine  into. 

5  STBi5€T'-f  be,  form,  make,  construction. 

6  Am-ph!b'-i-ans,  see  page  72. 
■J  ^d'.ei-€le,  one  of  the  cavities  of  the  heart  "  €Xb-niv'-o-kous,  feeding  on  floeh. 

1'2  Trans-fobm-a'tion,  change  of  form. 


which  receives  the  blood  from  the  lungs  or 
veins.     See  Fourth  Header,  p.  49. 

8  Ven'-tbi-€le,  a  cavity  of  the  heart  which 
propels  the  blood  to  the  lungs  or  arteries. 
See  Fourth  Reader,  p.  4Si. 

9  Or-tCse',  dull;  not  having  acute  sensi- 
bility. 

10  Doe'-mant,  sleeping;  not  active. 


54  WILLSON's  fifth  EKADEE.  Part  II. 


LESSON   II. — A  LETTEE  ABOUT  THE  CHELONIANS.* 

"  What  do  you  think  of  turtles^  ?"  Such  was  the  question 
asked  me  by  a  young  friend  and  former  pupil  of  mine,  then 
on  a  visit  with  me  to  our  great  metropolis,^  as,  stepping  out 
of  a  dining-saloon  in  Broadway,  we  stopped  a  moment  to  look 
at  three  enormous  living  sea-turtles  that  had  just  been  depos- 
ited on  the  sidewalk  from  a  dray-cart,  with  their  backs  down- 
ward to  prevent  them  from  running  away.  After  some  com- 
ments upon  turtle-soup  and  aldermanic  dinners,  my  young 
friend  remarked  that  he  knew  very  little  about  the  better 
portion  of  the  turtle  family,  and  had  a  prejudice  against  the 
whole  race :  he  had  seen,  he  said,  great  numbers  of  ugly-look- 
ing mud-turtles  in  swamps  and  river-marshes,  and  he  thought 
these  reptiles  were  very  well  adapted,  by  their  disagreeable 
appearance,  to  the  places  which  they  inhabit.  With  a  prom- 
ise to  give  my  friend  some  account,  by  letter,  of  the  turtle 
portion  of  the  reptile  kingdom,  we  parted ;  and  now  I  pro- 
ceed to  make  good  my  promise. 

Dellwild,  May  15th,  18—. 

1.  My  young  Fkiend, — I  begin  this  letter  by  recalling 
to  your  remembrance  the  substance  of  the  remark  which  you 
made  at  our  parting,  "  that  turtles  are  peculiarly  adapted  to 
certain  unpleasant  localities  which  Nature  seems  to  have  set 
apart  for  them."  A  fit  starting-place  is  this ;  for  here,  by 
your  own  admission,  is  a  beautiful  harmony^  in  nature,  which 
would  not  be  if  the  loveliest  of  singing-birds  inhabited  the 
marshes,  and  turtles,  lizards,  and  crocodiles  crawled  in  our 
gardens.  The  same  kind  of  harmony  will  be  found  to  exist 
throughout  earth,  air,  and  water :  the  eagle  and  the  condor 
naturally  betake  themselves  to  mountain  lieights  far  from  the 
dwellings  of  man;  gaudy  sun-birds  and  delicate  humming- 
birds 

"  gleam  between 
The  crimson  blossoms  of  the  coral-tree 
In  the  warm  isles  of  India's  sunny  sea  ;'* 

the  lion  for  the  forests,  the  tiger  for  the  jungles,  the  fishes  for 
the  waters,  and  why  not  reptiles  to  crenel  upon  the  earth,  and 
turtles  to  wallow  in  the  marshes  ?  You  may  lay  it  down  as 
a  principle  to  begin  with,  that  the  harmony^  of  nature  would 
be  incomplete  if  every  nook  of  creation  were  not  filled  with 
its  approp'iate  inhabitants. 

2.  But  perhaps  it  may  serve  to  give  these  lowly  creatures 


Pakt  II.  HERPETOLOGY,  OR  REPTILES.  55 

a  greater  degree  of  importance  in  your  estimation,  and  digni- 
fy the  study  of  their  character  and  habits,  to  learn  (if  you  are 
ignorant  of  it)  that  the  celebrated  naturalist'^  Agassiz^  has 
devoted  the  greater  part  of  one  of  his  foHo^  volumes  upon  the 
Natural  History  of  the  Animals  of  this  Country  to  the  sub- 
ject of  tortoises  alone,  and  that  he  has  filled  the  greater  part 
o^  another  volume  with  exquisite^  drawings  of  these  animals. 
Do  you  think  it  was  time  wasted  on  his  part  ?  or  that  the 
cause  of  science  w^ll  not  be  benefited  by  his  labors?  Not 
content  with  information  at  second-hand,  he  has  examined 
hundreds,  and  probably  thousands,  of  the  living  animals  them- 
selves, and  from  his  own  personal  knowledge  has  written  his 
descriptions  and  made  his  drawings. 

3.  "  Surely,"  you  say,  "  he  must  have  traveled  much,  and 
waded  through  swamps  and  marshes  innumerable,  to  have 
found  so  many  of  these  disgusting  animals!"  By  no  means. 
Breaking  in  upon  the  natural  harmony  to  which  we  have  al- 
luded, he  had  his  garden  full  of  them,  in  the  city  of  Cambridge, 
near  Boston ;  and  "there  he  walked  among  them  daily,  fed 
them,  and  studied  their  character  and  habits.  "  But,"  you 
ask,  "  how  did  he  obtain  them^  ?"  Scientific  men  from  all 
parts  of  our  country  collected  them  for  him,  alid  sent  them 
to  him.  Thus  Agassiz  tells  us  that  a  gentleman  of  Natchez, 
Mississippi,  not  satisfied  with  collecting,  extensively,  the  tur- 
tles in  the  neighborhood  of  his  residence,  undertook  a  journey 
pf  many  hundred  miles  for  the  special  purpose  of  securing  all 
tlie  species  living  in  the  adjoining  regions,  and,  having  com- 
pleted the  survey,  set  out  with  a  cargo  of  living  turtles,  and 
brought  them  safely  alive  to  him  in  Cambridge,  after  a  jour- 
ney of  over  a  thousand  miles. 

4.  I  think  you  will  agree  with  rae  that  if  such  a  man  as 
Agassiz,  whose  name  is  every  where  honored  for  his  contri- 
butions to  science,  devotes  so  much  time  to  the  study  of  tor- 
toises, and  publishes  costly  books  to  explain  their  structure 
and  describe  their  habits,  it  is  surely  not  unworthy  a  stu- 
dent's ambition  to  learn  something  about  these  animals,  and 
the  position  which  they  occupy  in  the  kingdom  of  animated 
nature.  You  will  doubtless  admit  that  it  is  very  desirable, 
to  say  the  least,  in  an  age  when  natural  history  is  receiving 
so  much  attention,  to  have  some  general  knowledge  of  all  its 
great  divisions,  that  of  herpetology  among  the  rest,  that  you 
may^not  be  wholly  ignorant  of  what  the  learned  are  so  much 
interested  in. 

5.  Let  me  remind  you  of  another  advantage  which  will  be 


5G  willson's  fifth  JREADEB.  Pakt  II. 

the  natural  result  of  a  more  extended  acquaintance  with  this 
subject.  The  feelings  of  disgust  with  which,  doubtless,  the 
sight  of  most  reptiles  now  fills  you,  will  give  way  to  some  de- 
gree of  satisfaction  at  least,  if  not  of  pleasure,  by  reason  of  the 
interest  which  a  knowledge  of  their  structure,  character,  and 
habits  will  excite  in  you.  If  we  could  look  upon  all  God's 
creatures  with  pleasure,  and  find  something  to  interest  us  in 
all  of  them,  even  the  humblest,  how  much  would  our  stock 
of  general  happiness  be  increased  thereby ! 

6.  But  let  us  return  to  our  subject,  and  see  if  we  can  not 
treat  of  it  in  a  more  scientific  order.  As  tortoises  are  in- 
cluded in  the  great  division  of  vertebrated  animals,  you  will 
naturally  ask,  "  for  what  reason^  ?"  I  reply,  "  Because  they 
have  a  back-bone  or  spinal  column."  "  But  the  tortoise,"  you 
say,  "is  a  soft  animal,  between  two  shells,  and  I  see  no  such 

bone  in  its  body."  Let  me  explain  to  you. 
The  back-bone  of  the  tortoise  is  on  the  out- 
side of  the  body,  and  forms  a  part  of  its 
shell,  or  covering.  Here  is  a  drawing 
which  will  make  it  all  plain  to  you.  It 
represents  the  under  side  of  the  upper 
shell  of  the  tortoise,  with  the  bones  of 
the  limbs  attached  in  their  proper  places. 
Downward  through  the  length  of  the  shell 
runs  the  spinal  column ;  branching  out 
from  each  side  of  it  are  the  flat  ribs,  whicj^ 
have  so  grown  together  as  to  leave  only  a 
Upper  shell  of  Tortoise.  ^^^^  line-mark  to  show  where  they  are 
united.  Thus  the  sjjinal  column  and  the  ribs  grow  on  the 
outside,  so  as  to  form  the  upper  shell  of  the  animal. 

7.  "This  is  wonderful,"  you  say;  "what  I  had  never 
thought  of  before."  Do  you  see  any  wisdom',  or  apparent 
design',  in  such  an  arrangement'?  The  tortoise,  when  on 
land,  is  a  slow  animal,  and  it  has  a  soft  body,  which,  if  unpro- 
tected, would  be  easily  crushed,  or  destroyed  by  other  ani- 
mals. The  peculiar  growth  of  its  back-bone  and  ribs  has 
given  it  a  firm  bony  shell  to  protect  it  from  above ;  and  in  a 
similar  manner  the  breast-bone,  or  sternum  (which  has  been 
removed  in  the  drawing),  spreads  out,  in  a  shell-like  form,  ex- 
tending from  the  base  of  the  neck  to  the  tail.  By  this  singu- 
lar provision  the  turtle  is  incased  in  a  coat  of  bony  armor, 
formed  of  its  own  skeleton  !  It  will  be  well  for  you  to  i^col- 
lect  that  the  upper  shell  is  called  the  carapace^^  and  the  lower 
one  the  plastron. 


Fart  II. 


HEEPETOLOGY,  OR   REPTILES. 


51 


8.  The  Chelonian  order  of  reptiles  (for  it  is  well  to  know 
the  terms  which  scientific  men  use) — the  Chelonians,  I  say, 
may  be  conveniently  divided  into  the  three  following  fami- 
lies :  land  tortoises,  river  and  marsh  tortoises,  and  marine  tur- 
tles ;  although  Agassiz  divides  them  into  two  classes,  with 
seven  families  in  one,  and  two  in  the  other,  placing  the  land 
tortoises  and  the  river  and  marsh  tortoises  in  one  class,  and 
the  marine  turtles  in  the  other.  I  shall  not  have  room  in  this 
letter  to  describe  any  of  these  classes  or  families,  but  in  my 
next  I  will  give  you  some  account  of  a  few  of  the  most  im- 
portant or  most  noted  species. 

»  €HE-L5'-Ni-AN,fromthe  Greek  c^l-o-nc,  a; 5  Ag-as-stz  i/tg' -d-se^  or  a-f](W-»iz). 

tortoise.  ^  Fo'-li-o,  a  book  formed  by  once  doubling 

'  Me-teop'-o-lis,  chief  city  (New  York).       |     each  sheet  of  paper. 
3  H-^r'-mo-ny,  just  adaptation  of  parts  to  '  ex'-qui-site,  choice;  exceedingly  beauti- 

each  other.  [torj'.!     ful. 

♦  Nat'-C-kal-ist,  one  versed  in  natural  his-.s  C.?e-a-paoe'. 


LESSON  III. 


A   SECOND   LETTER   ABOUT  TURTLES. 

3 


Scale  of  Inches. 

Land,  Marsh,  and  River  Tortoises.— 1.  Salt-water  Terrapin,  Emys  palUHtn&  2. 
Blanding's  Tortoise,  Cistuda  Blandingii,  3.  Spotted  Tortoise,  Emrjs  guttata.  4.  Fresh- 
water, or  Wood  Terrapin,  Emya  inneiilpta.  5.  Alligator  Tortoise,  or  Snapping  Turtle, 
Emysaura  serjjenlina.  6.  Common  Mud-Turtle,  or  Musk  Tortoise,  Sternotherus  odora- 
ttis.  1.  Matamata  Tortciee,  ChHiis  matamata.  8.  Common  Box -Tortoise,  Cistuda  Caro- 
lina.    (No3.  2  and  8  are  Land  Tortoises,) 

Dellwild,  May  24th,  18—. 
1.  My  YOUNG  Friend, — ^I  proceed  now  to  fulfill  the  prom- 
ise which  I  made  in  my  last  letter.     Among  the  land  tor- 

C2 


;)^  WILLSONS   FIFTH   BEADEK.  Fakt  II. 

toises,  which  vary  from  a  few  inches  to  three  or  four  feet 
in  length,  the  best  known  to  us  is  the  little  box-tortoise, 
which  is  found  every  where  in  this  country  on  dry  land. 
(See  No.  8.)  It  is  a  very  gentle  and  timid  animal,  never 
takes  to  the  water  from  choice,  and  feeds  on  insects  and 
fruit.  The  little  land  tortoise  of  Europe  is  extensively  used 
in  Greece  for  food.  One  kept  in  the  garden  of  Lambeth 
Palace,  near  London,  lived  to  the  age  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  years.  Some  of  the  largest  land  tortoises,  often 
weighing  two  or  three  hundred  pounds,  are  often  found  on 
the  Galapagos^  Islands,  where  they  are  considered  wholesome 
and  palatable^  food.  They  are  eagerly  sought  for  by  crews 
of  vessels,  as  they  serve  for  fresh  meat,  and  can  be  kept  for  a 
year  in  the  hold  of  a  ship  without  food  or  drink.  In  some 
of  the  land  tortoises,  the  lower  shell,  or  plastron,  is  so  jointed 
that  the  animal,  after  drawing  in  its  limbs,  can  shut  the  doors 
of  its  portable  house  against  its  enemies. 

2.  Of  the  marsh  and  river  tortoises  there  is  a  great  variety, 
differing  much  in  size  and  character.  Of  these,  a  great  many 
species,  some  of  which  are  commonly  known  as  terrapins,  and 
others  as  mud-turtles,  are  found  in  this  country.  The  well- 
known  and  justly  prized  terrapin  of  epicures,^  which  is  called 
the  salt-water  terrapin,  because  it  is  found  exclusively  in  salt 
or  brackish  streams  near  the  sea-shore,  is  quite  abundant  on 
the  shores  of  Long  Island.  During  the  winter  it  buries  itself 
in  the  mud,  from  which  it  is  taken  in  great  numbers  in  early 
spring,  and  is  then  very  fat. 

3.  Among  the  river  tortoises  is  the  well-known  alligator 
tortoise,  or  snapping  turtle^  which  derives  its  name  from  its 
propensity  to  snap  at  every  thing  within  its  reach.  It  will 
snap  greedily  at  the  legs  of  ducks  in  a  pond,  and  drag  them 
under  water  to  be  devoured  at  leisure.  In  the  Southern 
United  States  this  and  other  river  turtles  destroy  great  num- 
bers of  young  alligators.  Another  large  river  turtle,  also 
frequently  called  "  snapping  turtle,'*  and  found  abundantly 
in  the  rivers  which  enter  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  we  have  repre- 
sented in  the  engraving  on  the  next  page.  But  I  must  not 
omit  to  mention  the  matamata^  found  in  South  America.  It 
is  the  most  remarkable  of  the  river  tortoises.  Look  at  the 
drawing  of  it !  What  a  hideous  looking  object !  Yet  its 
tlesh  is  much  esteemed  for  food,  and  it  is  angled  for  with  a 
hook  and  line.  It  is  an  ugly  creature  to  deal  with,  as  it  bites 
sharply ;  and  the  fishermen  generally  cut  off  its  head  as  soon 
as  thev  have  causjlit  it. 


Past  II. 


HEEPETOLOGY,  OR   KEPTILES. 


59 


4.  And,  lastly,  I  must  describe  to  you,  briefly,  the  marine 
tortoises,  which  are  considered  the  only  true  turtles.  You 
will  at  once  distinguish  them  from  all  others  by  the  paddle- 
like form  of  their  feet,  the  toes  being  concealed  by  the  skin, 
which  completely  envelops*  them.  These  animals,  which  are 
found  in  all  the  seas  of  warm  climates,  are  excellent  swim- 
mers, but  on  land  they  shuffle  along  in  a  very  awkward  man- 
ner, and  make  only  a  slow  progress.  The  best-known  species 
is  the  green  turtle,  which  is  often  seen  in  the  markets  of  New 
York,  and  is  well  known  to  the  epicure  for  its  delicious  steaks, 
and  the  savory  soup  which  it  affords.  The  eggs  of  this,  and, 
indeed,  of  all  sea-turtles,  are  also  eaten,  and  considered  a  great 
delicacy.  These  turtles  are  generally  taken  by  watching  them 
when  they  visit  the  shore  to  deposit  their  eggs ;  they  are  then 
turned  over  on  their  backs,  and  in  this  helpless  condition  they 
remain  until  their  captors,  having  secured  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  many  as  they  require,  carry  them  off  to  their  ships. 


Scale  of  Inches. 

Mabine  akd  RiVEE  Turtles. — 1,  Hawk's-bill  Turtle,  Chelonia  imbricata.  2.  Logger- 
head Turtle,  Chelonia  carctta.  3.  Green  Turtle,  Chelonia  mydas.  5.  Leathery  Turtle, 
Sphargis  coriacm.  4.  &  6.  Upper  and  under  sides  of  the  Chelonura  Temninekiif  a  "  Snap- 
ping Turtle"  of  the  Mississippi. 

5.  Another  species  of  sea-turtle,  called  the  hawk's-bill,  which 


60 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Pabt  II. 


receives  its  popular  name  from  the  curved  and  pointed  form 
of  the  upper  jaw,  furnishes  the  valuable  tortoise-shell  of  com- 
merce. The  upper  shell  of  this  species  consists  of  thirteen 
plates,  partly  overlapping  each  other  like  the  tiles  of  a  house. 
By  means  of  heat  these  plates  are  capable  of  being  firmly 
united  in  any  quantity,  and  of  receiving  any  shape  by  being 
pressed  between  metallic  moulds.  Those  which  produce  the 
finest  shell  are  taken  in  the  waters  of  the  Indian  Archipelago. 
But  the  largest  of  the  sea-turtles  is  the  loggerhead,  which 
sometimes  weighs  eleven  hundred  pounds.  It  is  found  occa- 
sionally on  the  shores  of  nearly  all  the  Atlantic  States,  is  a 
strong  swimmer,  and  is  frequently  seen  in  the  midst  of  the 
ocean,  floating  on  the  surface  of  the  waters,  motionless,  and 
apparently  asleep,  in  which  situation  it  is  easily  captured. 

6.  Thus  I  have  given  you  a  very  brief  description  of  the 
turtle  family,  which  comprises  the  first  division  or  order  of 
the  class  of  reptiles.  From  what  I  have  w^ritten,  and  from 
the  drawings  which  I  have  given  you,  do  you  see  any  thing 
decidedly  disagreeable  or  offensive  in  these  animals'?  On 
the  contrary,  is  it  not  probable  that  you  might,  like  an  Agas- 
siz,  become  much  interested  in  studying  the  peculiarities  of 
their  structure,  their  character,  and  their  habits'  ?  I  might 
give  you  statistics  of  their  commercial  importance,  and  many 
mteresting  accounts  of  their  liabits  from  the  pages  of  Audu- 
bon, Darwin,  and  others,  and  I  regret  that  I  have  not  room 
for  them  here.  One  thing  which  I  had  overlooked  I  must 
however  remind  you  of,  and  that  is,  you  must  not  forget  tliat 
all  the  turtles,  even  those  that  live  in  the  sea,  can  breathe  only 
when  they  are  out  of  the  water,  and  that,  like  whales,  por- 
poises, and  dolphins,  they  must  occasionally  come  to  the  sur- 
face for  a  supply  of  air.  Large  numbers  of  sea-turtles  may 
sometimes  be  seen  in  the  clear  waters  of  the  Indian  Seas 
feeding  upon  sea-weeds  at  the  bottom,  and  in  that  situation 
they  are  represented  as  appearing  like  so  many  cattle  brows- 
ing^ uj)on  the  herbage.  Like  herds  of  bison,  they  probably 
have  their  ranges — their  paths  over  the  hills,  and  through  the 
valleys  of  the  sea,  from  one  pasture-ground  to  another.  Who 
shall  doubt  that  their  life  beneath  the  waters  is  a  ha]>py  one? 


>  GxL-A-rA'-r.OB,  the  '' Inlands  of  tortoises,' 

are  west  of  South  America, 
8  PXl'-a-ta-blk,  ngrce«blo  tothotaBtc. 


'  Pr'-i-rrRR,  one  who  Indulfres*  in  the  Inxu- 

rioH  of  the  t«l)U'. 
♦  I'N-vlci.'-ors,  covers ;  incKwea. 
>  BBOWt'-LMu,  feeding  on  branches. 


Part  U. 


HEKPETOLOGY,  OK  REPTILES. 


61 


LESSON  lY.— tA  letter  about  the  saurians.^ 

1  ^_^    2 


«S'ea/e  vj  IncAtt. 

Lizard  Division  of  the  Saueians. — 1.  Brazilian,  or  Variegated  Lizard,  Teius  teguexin. 
2.  Sand-Lizard,  Lact^-ta  agilis.  3.  New  York  Striped  Lizard,  or  Blue-tailed  Skink,  Sci- 
unis  fasciatuft.  4.  The  Common  Gecko,  Gecko  verus.  6.  Tlie  Iguana,  Iguana  tubcrcn- 
lata.  6.  Mitred  Basiliak,  Ecudlicus  viitratus.  7.  Brown  Swift,  or  Pine  Lizard,  Tropi- 
dolepis  undulattts.    8.  The  Chameleon,  Chameleon  vulgaris. 

Dellwild,  June  2d,  18—. 

1.  My  young  Friend, — The  interest  with  which  you  pro- 
fess to  have  read  my  letters  descriptive  of  the  Chelonian  or- 
der of  reptiles  induces  me  to  comply  with  your  request  that 
I  should  give  you  ^ome  account  of  the  remaining  three  or- 
ders. These  are,  as  you  are  already  informed,  the  order  of 
Saurians  or  Lizards,  in  which  is  included  the  crocodiles ;  the 
order  of  Ophidians  or  Serpents ;  and,  lastly,  the  Amphibians, 
which  are  the  connecting  link  between  reptiles  and  fishes. 
As  I  purpose  to  treat  these  three  orders  within  the  limits  of 
at  most  three  letters,  my  description  must  be  very  brief  in- 
deed. 

2.  We  will  take  the  Saurian  reptiles,  or  lizards  proper,  to 
begin  with.  Very  off'ensive-looking  animals  many  of  them 
are,  no  doubt,  to  one  not  accustomed  to  them ;  but  is  it  not 
probable  that  your  feelings  have  been  somewhat  prejudiced 
against  them  ?    Perhaps  more  familiarity  with  these  creatures 


62  WILLSON's  fifth   READEE.  Part  II. 

might  induce  you  to  look  upon  them  with  a  greater  degree 
of  complacency .2  Fancy  yourself  a  resident  of  the  torrid 
zone,  where  the  forests,  the  fields,  and  even  the  houses  swarm 
with  them,  and  what  a  living  torment  it  would  be  if  you  were 
to  be  constantly  annoyed  by  the  very  sight  of  them !  If  you 
purpose  a  Southern  residence,  I  advise  you,  for  your  own  com- 
fort, to  overcome  these  prejudices.^ 

3.  We  have  very  few  of  the  lizard  family  in  the  United 
States — only  about  a  dozen  species  at  most,  and  of  these  only 
two  are  found  in  New  York  and  the  New  England  States, 
and  thesov  are  harmless  little  creatures,  only  six  or  eight  inches 
in  length.  You  may  have  been  told  that  they  are  poisonous, 
a  charge  which  I  scornfully  repel.  It  is  merely  a  vulgar  error, 
and  is  not  true  of  any  of  the  lizard  race.  The  hotter  chmates 
of  the  globe  are,  as  I  have  said,  the  great  nurseries  of  the  Sau,- 
rians,  and  we  of  the  temperate  zone  can  form  no  adequate* 
idea  of  the  variety — no,  nor  of  the  beauty  of  these  creatures, 
as  found  in  their  favorite  abodes.  This  is  what  a  writer  says 
of  them :  "  In  the  latitudes  between  the  tropics  they  every 
where  obtrude  themselves  upon  notice  ;  they  are  in  the  com- 
mon pathway,  and  even  haunt  the  abodes  of  men ;  they 
swarm  upon  the  trees,  they  lie  motionless  upon  the  surface 
of  the  water,  enjoying  the  hot  rays  of  the  sun;  they  cover 
banks,  and  walls,  and  crumbling  ruins,  and  mingle  their  spark- 
ling hues  with  those  of  the  blooming  vegetation  amid  which 
they  nestle."  Nice  little  creatures,  that  nestle  so  cozily* — 
perhaps  beneath  the  very  flowers  that  you  are  plucking ! 

4.  The  drawing  at  the  head  of  this  lesson,  which  I  have  pre- 
pared with  much  care,  will  give  you  a  better  idea  than  any 
description  would  convey  of  the  lizards  proper,  leaving  the 
crocodiles  for  another  drawing.  The  little  New  York  lizards, 
and  the  sand-lizard  of  England,  are  so  sniall  as  scarcely  to  at- 
tract our  notice.  The  Brazilian,  or  variegated  lizard,  is  quite 
a  different  animal,  sometimes  measuring  five  or  six  feet  in 
length.  It  runs  with  great  swiftness,  and  strikes  such  violent 
blows  with  its  tail  that  dogs  do  not  readily  venture  to  attack 
it.  It  is  somewhat  noted  for  robbing  hen-roosts  and  stealing 
honey.  It  attacks  the  bee-hives  with  blows  of  its  tail,  running 
away  each  time,  after  having  given  a  stroke,  to  escape  the 
stings.  In  this  way  it  wearies  out  the  bees,  who  finally  quit 
their  home,  and  leave  the  honey  to  their  enemy. 

5.  Another  large  South  American  lizard  is  the  iguana,  a 
drawing  of  which  I  have  given.  What  would  you  think  of 
eating  such  a  creature  ?     Do  not  be  astonished  when  I  tell 


Paet  II.  HEEPETOLOGY,  OK  KEPTILES.  63 

you  that,  in  countries  where  it  abounds,  its  flesh  is  regarded 
as  a  great  delicacy !  But  it  is  an  animal  of  taste  in  more 
senses  than  one.  It  is  very  fond  of  music.  It  passes  a  great 
part  of  its  existence  in  trees,  and  is  commonly  taken  when 
resting  on  a  branch,  by  slipping  a  noose  over  its  head,  its  cap- 
tor whistling  to  it  while  engaged  in  the  operation. 

6.  The  chameleon,  another  member  of  the  lizard  family,  we 
have  all  read  of  in  that  story  of  the  "  two  travelers  of  conceit- 
ed cast,"  who, 

"As  o'er  Arabia's  wilds  they  passed, 
And,  on  their  way,  in  friendly  chat, 
Now  talked  of  thL*?,  and  then  of  that. 
Discoursed  a  while,  'mongst  other  matter, 
Of  the  chavieleon^s  form  and  nature." 

You  know  how  violent  a  dispute  they  fell  into  about  its  col- 
or, one  declaring  it  to  be  blue,  and  the  other  green,  and  that 

"  So  high,  at  last,  the  contest  rose. 
From  words  they  almost  came  to  blows ;" 

and  yet  the  reptile,  on  being  produced  by  a  third  party,  was 
found  to  be  neither  green,  nor  blue,  nor  black — but  white  ! 

7.  The  truth  about  this  power  of  the  chameleon  to  change 
its  color  is  this.  It  is  naturally  of  a  pale  gray  color,  from 
which  it  may  pass  from  pale  green  to  yellow,  and  dingy  red ; 
and  sometimes  the  change  is  continued  to  dusky  violet,  or 
nearly  black.  In  other  respects,  also,  the  chameleon  is  a  very 
peculiar  animal.  It  seems  scarcely  to  possess  the  power  of 
motion — walks  with  the  greatest  circumspection® — and  fre- 
quently remains  hours  almost  immovable.  It  can  direct  its 
eyes  two  different  ways  at  once — one  looking  backward  and 
the  other  forward.  This  animal  feeds  upon  insects ;  and  it 
may  be  a  wonder  to  you  how  so  sluggish  a  creature  can  seize 
them.  The  wonder  will  not  be  lessened  when  you  are  told 
that  it  seizes  them  with  its  tongue,  which  it  darts  forth  in- 
stantaneously, often  more  than  the  length  of  the  body,  and 
that  the  end  of  the  tongue  is  covered  with  a  viscid'  secretion, 
by  which  the  insects  at  which  it  is  thrown  are  glued  to  it. 
As  this  motion  of  the  tongue  is  so  rapid  as  to  be  scarcely  vis- 
ible, it  was  the  popular  belief  of  the  ancients  that  the  chame- 
leon fed  on  air  alone. 

8.  But  I  must  pass  on  to  others  of  the  lizard  class.  The 
basilisk  of  South  America,  although  perfectly  harmless,  is  a 
very  hideous-looking  reptile,  as  you  may  see  from  the  picture 
of  it.  This  term,  basilisk^  was  applied  by  the  ancients  to  a 
monster  which  existed  only  in  their  own  imaginations,  yet  of 
which  the  most  detailed  accounts  have  been  transmitted  to 


64  willson's  fifth  reader.  PaetII. 


alty;  and  the  ai 

9r 


us.    The  name  is  derived  from  a  Greek  word  signifying  roy- 
alty ;  and  the  animal  was  represented  as  the  king  of  the  ser- 
pents, with  a  regal  crown  upon  its  head, 
blighting  the  herbage  with  its  breath,  and 
striking  dead  with  a  glance  of  its  eye.     The 
term  has  been  retained,  and  applied  to  this 
South  American  lizard  on  account  of  the  crest 
or  projection  on  its  head.    Another  harmless 
little  lizard,  with  a  terrible  name,  is  the  fly- 
ing dragon,  which  is  found  in  India,  and 
Flying  Dragon,       wliich  is  notcd  chicfly  for  being  the  only  liv- 
Draco   mbriatus.     Jug  representative  of  the  fabulous  dragons 
of  olden  time,  so  celebrated  in  romance  and  fable. 

9.  I  will  allude  to  one  more  only  of  the  true  lizards,  and 
that  is  the  little,  active,  noiseless  gecko,  or  house-lizard  of  In- 
dia. The  peculiar  construction  of  its  feet  enables  it  to  run  up 
smooth  perpendicular  walls  with  great  facility,  and  even  to 
cross  a  ceiling  with  its  back  downward.  It  is  partial  to  the 
habitations  of  men,  attracted  by  the  flies  which  swarm  there. 
Thus  Mrs.  Mason,  of  the  Baptist  mission  of  Burmah,  says  of 
these  creatures :  "  They  are  every  where,  under  the  sides  of 
tables  and  chairs,  in  the  closets  and  book-cases,  and  among 
the  food  and  clothing.  They  sometimes  tumble  from  the  roof 
upon  the  tables,  but  they  usually  come  struggling  with  a  cen- 
tiped,^  or  some  other  vermin,  in  their  mouths."  So  far  from 
having  any  wish  to  destroy  them,  Mrs.  Mason  considered  their 
services  invaluable  for  clearing  the  house  of  vermin.  It  is 
supposed  that  this,  instead  of  the  spider,  is  the  animal  men- 
tioned in  the  thirtieth  chapter  of  Proverbs,  and  twenty-eighth 
verse,  which  has  thus  been  rendered  by  Jerome : 

"  The  gecko  takcth  hold  with  her  hands, 
Aud  dwcUcth  in  king'd  palaces." 

10.  The  crocodile  division  of  the  Saurians  next  claims  our 
attention.  The  principal  families  are  those  of  the  alligator 
of  our  Southern  States,  the  cayman  of  Brazil,  the  common 
crocodile  of  the  Nile,  and  the  gavial  of  the  Ganges,  all  of 
which  are  represented  in  the  annexed  engraving,  which  will 
give  you  a  better  idea  of  their  forms  and  relative  sizes  than 
any  written  description  could  convey.  In  the  true  crocodile 
the  jaws  are  much  more  slim  and  pointed  than  in  the  alli- 
gator; and  you  will  observe,  at  the  end  of  the  long  snout  of 
the  gavial,  a  large  protuberance,^  in  which  the  nostrils  are 
situated.  All  these  animals  are  inhabitants  of  the  rivers  and 
fresh  waters  of  warm  countrios;  and,  although  thev  breathe 


Part  II. 


HEKPETOLOGY,  OR   REPTILES. 


65 


ScaU  of  Feet. 

Crocodile  Division  ojvthe  Saubians. — 1.  li^aissif pi  AlWgntor^  Alligator  Mi ssissip- 
piensis.  2.  Gavial  of  the  Ganges,  Gavialis  Gangetica.  3.  The  Cayman,  Caiman  palpe- 
brosus.    4.  Egyptian  Crocodile,  Crocodilus  vulgaris. 

by  means  of  lungs,  they  are  capable  of  remaining  under  wa- 
ter an  hour  and  a  half  at  a  time.  Their  near  alliance^°  to  the 
tortoises  is  seen  in  the  upper  covering  of  their  bodies,  whiclr 
is  composed  of  numerous  large,  square,  bony  plates,  set  in  a 
very  tough  leathery  hide.  In  all  of  them  both  jaws  are  set 
round  with  formidable  teeth,  but  the  upper  jaw  only  is  mova- 
ble. The  following,  descriptive  of  some  of  the  habits  of  the 
crocodile,  will  be  read  with  interest : 

11.  ' '  The  female  digs  a  cavity  in  the  earth,  in  which  she  places  her  eggs 
in  a  circular  form,  in  successive  layers,  and  with  portions  of  earth  between, 
the  whole  being  afterward  covered  up.  The  nest  is  generally  placed  in  a 
dry  hillock,  and  the  earth  is  gathered  up,  so  that,  on  the  average,  the  eggs 
are  about  ten  inches  below  the  surface.  This  being  done,  the  mother  aban- 
dons them  to  be  hatched  by  the  heat  of  the  sun ;  yet  instinct  prompts  her 
frequently  to  revisit  the  spot  as  the  term  of  'exclusion'^'  approaches.  She 
then  testifies  uncommon  agitation,  roaming  about  the  place,  and  uttering  a 
peculiar  growling,  as  if  to  awake  her  hideous  offspring  to  animation. 

12.  "The  period  of  maturity  being  at  length  attained,  the  nascent'^  croc- 
odiles answer  to  her  solicitude  by  a  kind  of  yelping  like  puppies.  A  hollow 
murmur  in  return  denotes  her  satisfaction,  and  she  hastens  to  scrape  up 
the  earth  with  such  anxiety  that  several  of  the  young  are  generally  crushed 
under  her  unwieldy  body.  Having  withdrawn  them  from  their  nest,  the 
mother  leads  them  straightway  to  the  neighboring  water ;  but  now  her  ut- 
most vigilance  is  required  for  their  preservation  ;  for,  unlike  the  instinct  with 
which  she  is  animated,  the  male,  silently  approaching,  will  frequently  de- 
vour them  before  she  is  aware  of  their  danger.  He  perpetually  seeks  their 
destruction ;  and  the  watch  of  the  female  over  her  young  is  protracted  for 
three  months  from  their  first  appearance." — Goodrich. 


66 


willson's  fifth  beadeb. 


Pabt  II. 


13.  The  Mississippi  alligators,  which  grow  to  the  length 
of  fourteen  or  fifteen  feet,  are  the  most  tierce  and  voracious 
of  the  whole  class ;  yet  on  land  they  are  timid,  and  usually 
flee  from  the  presence  of  man.  During  the  heat  of  the  day, 
these  animals,  if  undisturbed,  lie  stretched  and  languid  on  the 
banks,  or  in  the  mud  on  the  shores  of  the  rivers  and  lagoons; 
but  when  evening  comes  they  begin  to  move;  and  at  this 
time,  in  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  they  commence  a  terrific 
roaring,  which  is  described  as  a  compound  of  the  sounds  of 
the  bull  and  the  bittern,  but  far  louder  than  either.  At  this 
time  two  males  will  sometimes  engage  in  fierce  battle,  usual- 
ly in  shallow  water,  and  in  these  desperate  fights  not  unfre- 
quently  both  are  killed.  When  the  alligator  closes  its  jaws 
upon  an  object,  they  "can  with  difficulty  be  wrenched  asunder, 
even  by  a  lever  of  considerable  length. 

14.  It  is  known  that  the  crocodile  of  the  Nile,  which  some- 
times grows  to  the  length  of  thirty  feet,  was  regarded  as 
sacred  by  the  Egyptians,  and  that,  when  caught  young,  it 
was  sometimes  so  trained  as  to  march  in  the  ranks  of  their 
religious  processions.  The  gavial  of  the  Ganges,  which  equals 
in  size  the  Egyptian  crocodile,  though  often  represented  as 
one  of  the  scourges  of  that  celebrated  river,  is  not  dangerous 
to  man  or  the  larger  quadrupeds,  although  it  is  true  that  the 
dying  Hindoos  exposed  upon  its  banks,  and  the  dead  body 
committed  to  its  waters  are  its  frequent  prey. 

15.  There  is  a  small  animal  in  Egypt,  called  the  ichneumon, 
which  bears  some  resemblance  to  the  weasel  tribe,  and  which 
feeds  upon  birds,  reptiles,  and  also  upon  eggs.  It  is  particu- 
larly serviceable  in  restraining  the  multiplication  of  the  croc- 
odile by  devouring  its  eggs,  and  also  the  young  crocodile 
when  newly  hatched.  This  fact  in  natural  history  has  been 
made  use  of  in  the  following  poem  to  illustrate  the  principle 
that  it  is  much  easier  to  remove  an  evil  at  its  beginning  than 
when  it  has  grown  to  great  proportion^.  The  moral  at  the 
close  of  the  poem  "may  well  be  commended  to  the  young. 


J  Sau'-bi-an,  from  the  Grofk  Hnuro.<>,  a  liz- 
ard ;  an  animal  of  the  lizard  kind. 

3  Com-pla'-<!F,n-cy,  plcftHure;  BiitiHfaciion. 

3  I*kFv'-u-i>Tof-,  an  opinion  fonned  without 
due  examination. 

*  Ad'-e-quatk,  correct ;  adeqvate  ideas  are 
Buch  as  exactly  represent  tnoir  object. 

•  CO'-zi-LY,  snugly ;  comfortably. 


«  Cin-rcM-spicc'-TioN,  caution. 
^  Vis'-oiD,  sticky  like  plue. 

8  CKN'-Ti-rRn,  an  insect  having  a  hundred 
feet ;  or  one  that  hits  mami  feet. 

9  Pbo-tC'-hkr-ancf,  a  bunch  or  knob. 
>o  Al-i.T'-ante,  relationship. 

n  Kx-rt,0'-«iON,  a  thrusting  out;  hatching. 
»a  Nas'-oent,  young ;  beginning  to  grow. 


Part  II.  heepetology,  oe  eeptiles.  67 


LESSON"   V. — ^THE   CROCODILE  AND  THE  ICHNEUMON. 

1.  On  the  banks  of  the  fertile  and  many-mouthed  Nile, 
A  long  time  ago  lived  a  fierce  crocodile, 

Who  round  him  was  spreading  a  vast  desolation, 
For  bloodshed  and  death  seemed  his  chief  occupation ; 
'Twas  easy  to  see  no  pity  had  he ; 
His  tears  were  but  water — there  all  could  agree. 

2.  The  sheep  he  devoured,  and  the  shepherd  I  ween ;    - 
The  herd  feared  to  graze  in  the  pasture  so  green, 

And  the  farmer  himself,  should  he  happen  to  meet  him. 
The  monster  ne'er  scrupled'  a  moment  to  eat  him. 
There  never  before  was  panic  so  sore 
On  the  banks  of  the  Nile  as  this  creature  spread  o'er. 

3.  Wherever  he  went,  all  were  flying  before  him. 
Though  some  in  their  blindness  thought  fit  to  adore^  him ; 
But  as  they  came  near,  each  his  suit  to  prefer, 

This  god  made  a  meal  of  his  base  worshiper. 

By  day  and  by  night  it  was  his  delight 

His  votaries^  to  eat — it  was  serving  them  right, 

4.  Grown  proud  of  his  prowess,  puffed  up  with  success, 
The  reptile  must  travel— how  could  he  do  less? 

So  one  fine  summer  morning  he  set  out  by  water 
On  a  pleasure  excursion — his  pleasure  was  slaughter ! 
To  Tentyra's  isle,  to  visit  awhile. 
The  careless  inhabitants  there  to  beguile.* 

5.  Though  the  Tentyrites  thought  themselves  able  before 
To  conquer  each  monster  that  came  to  their  shore. 
Yet  now  they,  with  horror,  were  fain  to  confess 
That  this  crocodile  gave  them  no  little  distress. 

So  in  great  consternation,  a  grand  consultation 
Was  called  to  convene*  of  the  heads  of  the  nation. 

6.  It  met ;  but,  alas !  such  the  terror  and  fright. 
They  failed  to  distinguish  the  wrong  from  the  right ; 
When,  just  at  this  crisis,  an  ichneumon  small 
Stepped  forth  on  the  platform  in  front  of  them  all. 
With  modesty,  winning,  to  give  his  opinion 

Of  measures  and  means  to  secure  the  dominion. 

7.  " Grave  sirs,"  said  he,  bowing,  "I  see  your  distress, 
And  your  griefs  arc,  I  fear  me,  past  present  redress  ; 
Yet  still,  if  to  listen  should  be  your  good  pleasure, 

I  think  I  can  help  you,  at  least  in  a  measure : 
For  'tis  my  impression,  a  little  discretion 
Than  valor  itself  is  a  far  greater  blessing. 

8.  "  No  doubt  'tis  a  noble  and  great  undertaking, 
Great  war  on  a  mighty  great  foe  to  be  making ; 
But  still,  I  assure  you,  'tis  better  by  far 

Not  to  let  this  great  foe  become  mighty  for  war ; 


68 


willson's  fifth  beader. 


»ART   IL 


While  the  crocodile  lies  in  an  egg  of  small  size, 
To  cnish  him  at  once  you  should  never  despise. 
9.   "  You  see  me  before  you  a  poor  feeble  creature; 
Yet  I  cope*  with  this  monster,  for  such  is  my  nature ; 
And  while  you  have  met  here  in  grand  consultation, 
This  one  crocodile  to  expel  from  the  nation, 
I  thought  it  a  treat  for  breakfast  to  eat 
A  dozen  or  more,  which  I  happened  to  meet." 

MORAL. 

10.  And  now  that  my  fable  is  pretty  near  ended, 
I  think  there  should  be  a  brief  moral  appended ; 
Beware  how  you  let  evil  habits  grow  up ; 
While  feeble  and  young,  you  to  crush  them  may  hope, 
But  let  them  remain  till  strength  they  attain, 
You  may  find  your  best  eflforts  to  conquer  them  vain. 

Mrs.  J.  L.  Gray. 

1  SceO'-ple,  to  doubt;  to  hesitate.  *  Be-gutle',  deceive ;  impore  upon. 

2  A-dOee',  to  worship  as  divine.  s  €on-vknk',  assemble. 

3  Vo'-TA-iuEs,  those  devoted  to  him ;  his  wor-  6  cOpe,  oppose  with  success, 
sbipers. 


LESSON  VI. — ^A  LETTER   ABOUT  THE   OPHIDIANS. 


Scalt  of  J-ttt. 

TnE  OpinDiANS,  or  SraPKNTB.— 1.  The  Cobra-de-C'apel'lo,  or  Hooded  Serpent  of  India, 
Najn  tHpxuiianH.  2.  The  Saia  Ilnjc  of  Africa.  3.  The  Kuttleeuake  of  America,  Crotalu* 
dutismia.    4.  European  Black  N  ijJer,  Peliaa  bertcs. 


Part  II.  heepetology,  or  keptiles.  69 

Dellwild,  June  28th,  18—. 

1.  My  young  Feiend, — ^I  am  gratified  to  learn  from  you, 
in  response  to  my  last  letter,  that  the  brief  description  which 
I  have  given  of  the  Sam-ian  reptiles  has  not  been  devoid^  of 
interest  to  you.  Let  me  say  to  you,  then,  in  this  place,  by  way 
of  further  encouragement,  that  when  you  come  to  the  subject 
of  Geology,  and  find  that  the  fossil  remains  of  the  Saurians, 
some  of  them  of  monster  size,  throw  much  light  upon  the  his- 
tory of  the  earth's  formation,  you  will  begin  to  realize  some- 
thing of  the  true  importance  of  this  and  kindred  portions  of 
natural  history,  and  see  beauties  in  them  which  I  can  not  ex- 
pect you  now  to  appreciate.  But  I  must  proceed  to  the  sub- 
ject set  apart  for  this  letter — the  Ophidians,  or  Serpents, 
which  comprise  the  third  division  or  order  of  the  reptile  race. 

2.  In  the  little  sj^ace  which  I  can  devote  to  this  order  in 
one  letter,  I  can  do  little  more  than  take  a  general  view  of 
the  subject,  and  give  you  drawings  of  a  few  species.  This 
you  may  not  regret,  as  the  very  name  of  serpent,  or  snaJce^ 
almost  makes  some  people  shudder ;  and  I  am  not  surprised 
that  you  should  ask,  "  What  caii^  there  be  interesting  about 
such  creatures'  ?"*  I  shall  not  attempt  here  to  combat  preju- 
dices which  seem  so  natural^  and  which  were  perhaps  design- 
ed by  the  Great  Author  of  our  being. 

3.  Although  many  of  the  serpents  are  of  the  most  resplen- 
dent coloring,  and  although,  deprived  of  feet,  fins,  or  other 
obvious  members^  for  walking,  they  glide  on  the  earth,  ascend 
trees,  and  even  direct  their  course  through  the  waters  with 
surprising  agility  and  with  graceful  evolutions,^  yet  the  ser- 
pent was  cursed  "above  every  beast  of  the  field ;"  and  man, 
as  if  remembering  this  curse  and  the  lamentable  event  which 
caused  it,  turns  from  the  reptile  with  disgust  and  horror,  or 
seeks  to  effect  its  instant  destruction. 

4.  But,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  while  in  every  country, 
ancient  and  modern,  serpents  have  been  viewed  with  aversion, 
no  other  class  of  animals  has  furnished  man  with  so  many  va- 
ried emblems,'^  mythological^  symbols,^  and  allegories.''  In 
Hindoo  mythology  the  god  Chrisna  is  sometimes  represented 
entwined  by  a  large  cobra,  which  is  fixing  its  poisoned  fangs 
in  the  heel;  and  again  the  god  is  represented  as  crushing 
the  head  of  the  serpent,  while  he  triumphantly  tears  the  crea- 
ture from  his  body — emblems  which  seem  to  spring  from  the 
great  prophetic  promise  of  Scripture, "  It  shall  bruise  thy  head, 
and  thou  shalt  bruise  his  heel." 

*  See  Notes  to  Eules  III.  and  IV. 


70  willson's  fifth  eeadee.  Fabt  n. 

6.  In  Grecian  mythology  snakes  armed  the  hand  of  Discord ; 
and  both  the  Gorgons  and  the  avenging  Furies  were  repre- 
sented with  snakes  wreathed  around  their  heads  instead  of 
hair.  As  an  emblem  of  prudence  and  circumspection,  as  well 
as  from  their  reputed  medicinal  virtues,  they  were  the  attribute 
of  JEsculapius,  the  father  of  medicine ;  entwined  around  the 
wand^  of  Mercury,  they  were  the  type  of  insinuating  elo- 
quence ;  and  from  the  venomous  powers  of  many,  they  were 
used  as  the  symbol  of  torment.  Among  the  Egyptians  the 
serpent  was  the  emblem  of  fertility ;  while  the  circle  formed 
by  a  snake  biting  its  own  tail — without  beginning  or  end — 
was  the  chosen  symbol  of  eternity. 

6.  The  renowned  Pythian  games  of  Greece  were  fabled  to 
have  been  established  in  commemoration  of  the  slaying  of  the 
monster  serpent  Python  by  the  arrows  of  Apollo.  The  slaying 
of  the  nine-headed  Lernean  hydra  was  the  second  of  the  twelve 
labors  imposed  upon  Hercules.  One  of  the  most  remarkable 
groups  in  sculpture  which  time  has  spared  to  us  is  "  the  La- 
ocoon,"9  which  represents  the  Apollonian  priest,  Laocoon,  and 
his  two  sons,  in  the  folds  of  two  enormous  serpents  which  had 
issued  from  the  sea.  The  story  is  thus  told  by  Virgil,  as 
translated  by  Dryden : 

7.  "  Then  (dj-eadful  to  behold !)  from  sea  we  spied 

Two  serpents,  rank'd  abreast,  the  seas  d.ivide, 
And  smoothly  sweep  along  the  swelling  tide. 
Their  flaming  crests  above  the  waves  they  show, 
Their  bodies  seem  to  burn  the  seas  below ; 
Their  speckled  tails  they  lash  to  urge  their  course. 
And  on  tlie  sounding  shore  the  flying  billows  force. 
And  now  tho  strand,  and  now  the  phiin,  they  held. 
Their  ardent  eyes  with  bloody  streaks  were  fiU'd; 
Their  nimble  tongues  they  brandlsh'd  as  they  came. 
And  lick'd  their  hissing  jaws  that  sputter' d  flame. 

8.  "  We  fled  amazed :  their  destined  way  they  take, 

And  to  Laocoon'  and  his  children  make  : 

And  first  around  the  tender  boys  they  wind. 

Then  with  their  sharpen'd  fangs  their  limbs  and  bodies  grind. 

The  wretched  father,  nmning  to  their  aid. 

With  pious  haste,  but  vain,  they  next  invade; 

Twice  round  his  waist  their  winding  volumes  roU'd; 

And  twice  about  his  gasping  throat  they  fold. 

Tlie  priest  tlms  doubly  choked — their  crests  divide, 

And  tow'ring  o'er  his  head  in  triumph  ride. 

With  both  liis  hands  he  labors  at  the  knots  ; 

liis  holy  fillpts'o  the  blue  venom' >  blots: 

His  roaring  fills  the  flitting  air  around. 

Thus,  when  an  ox  receives  a  glancing  wound. 

He  breaks  liia  bands,  the  fatal  altar  flies. 

And  with  loud  bellowings  breaks  the  yielding  skies." 

9.  Among  the  Mexicans  the  serpent  was  the  basis  of  their 
hideous  and  bloody  religion.  The  supreme  Mexican  idol, 
Mexitli,  was  represented  encircled  and  guarded  by  serpents, 
before  which  were  offered  human  sacrifices. 


Part  II.  herpetology,  OR  reptiles.  71 

*■'■  On  a  blue  throne,  with  four  huge  silver  snakes, 
As  if  the  keepers  of  the  sanctuary, 
Circled  with  stretching  neck  and  fangs  display' d, 
Mexitli  sat :  another  graven  snake 
Belted  with  scales  of  gold  his  monster  bulk." 

10.  Even  among  our  British  ancestors  the  priests  are  said 
to  have  had  tame  serpents  of  great  size,  which  they  suffered 
to  twine  around  their  bodies,  thereby  inspiring  the  people 
with  wonder,  fear,  and  servile  obedience.  Southey,  in  his 
poem  of  Madoc,  has  vividly  depicted  such  an  exhibition  and 
its  effects.  Neolin,  the  priest  of  the  snake-god,  is  a  prisoner 
in  the  hands  of  Madoc  and  his  party,  when 

11.  "  Forth  from  the  dark  recesses  of  the  cave 

The  serpent  came :  the  Hoamen  at  the  sight 
Shouted;  and  they  who  held  the  priest,  appaU'd, 
Relax' d  their  hold.     On  came  the  mighty  snake. 
And  twined  in  many  a  wreath  round  Neolin, 
Darting  aright,  aloft,  his  sinuous  neck. 
With  searching  eye  and  lifted  jaw,  and  tongue 
Quivering;  and  hiss  as  of  a  heavy  shower 
Upon  the  summer  woods. 

12.  "  The  Britons  stood 
Astounded  at  the  powerful  reptile's  bulk, 

And  that  strange  sight.     His  girth  was  as  of  man, 

But  easily  could  he  have  overtopped  ' 

Goliath's  helmed  head ;  or  that  huge  king 

Of  Basan,  hugest  of  the  Anakim. 

What  then  was  human  strength  if  once  involved 

Within  those  dreadful  coils  !     The  multitude 

Fell  prone,"  and  worship' d." — Southey. 

13.  Thus  much  for  the  fable  and  poetry  of  our  subject, 
which  assuredly  it  is  well  to  be  acquainted  with.  A  few 
words  now  as  to  the  more  tangible  realities  of  serpent  life. 
Serpents  may  be  divided  into  the  two  large  sections,  the  ven- 
omous and  the  non-venomous,  of  which  about  sixty  species 
of  the  former  have  been  enumerated,  and  more  than  three 
hundred  of  the  latter.*  They  are  numerous,  and  some  of  them 
of  great  size  in  the  jungles,  marshes,  savannas, ^^  ^^(j  other 
desolate  places  of  the  tropics,  but  are  rare  and  diminutive  in 
cold  regions.  Only  three  species  are  found  in  Britain ;  none 
in  Ireland ;  sixteen  species  are  found  in  New  York  and  the 
New  England  States,  of  which  only  two  are  venomous,  the 
copperhead  and  the  rattlesnake.  All  serpents  are  carnivorous, 
of  slow  growth,  and  long  lived.  Like  all  slow  breathers,  they 
can  exist  a  long  time  without  food. 

14.  Many  thrilling  accounts  might  be  given  of  the  serpent- 
charmers  of  the  East ;  of  deadly  contests  between  serpents 
of  different  species,  and  between  serpents  and  other  animals, 

*  More  correctly,  the  division  is  into  Vipeeink  and  Colubeine  serpents.  In  the  for- 
mer division  are  embraced  the  Viper  family  and  the  Rattlesnake  family ;  in  the  latter, 
the  Coluber  serpents  (our  common  harmless  snakes),  the  Boas  and  Pythons^  and  the  ma- 
rine serpents.    A  few  ©f  the  Colubriue  serpents  are  believed  to  be  venomous. 


72 


willson's  fifth  beadee. 


Part  II. 


their  natural  enemies,  and  of  the  slaying  of  enormous  boas 
and  pythons  of  South  America  and  Southern  Asia,  which  have 
been  known  to  envelop  and  crush  in  their  folds  a  goat,  deer, 
or  ox,  and  even  a  man.  Some  of  these  accounts,  which  may 
be  regarded  as  authentic,  I  will  send  for  your  perusal,  and 
pass  on  in  my  next  letter  to  a  brief  notice  of  the  amphibians, 
the  last  of  the  four  orders  of  the  reptile  race. 


1  De-void',  destitute  of. 

2  MtM'-BERS,  limbs  of  animal  bodiea. 

3  Kv-o-Lu'-TiON8,  motioDs. 

*  £m'-blem,  that  which  represents  one  thing 
to  the  eye  and  another  to  the  understand- 
ing. 

6  Myth-o-lSg'-ic-al,  pertaining  to  the  fa- 
bles of  the  heathen  gods. 


6  Sym'-bol,  an  emblem  or  sign  of  somRthing. 

'  al'-le-go-by,  a  story  in  which  the  literal 

meaning  is  not  the  direct  or  simple  one. 

8  Wand,  a  staff  or  rod  of  authority. 

9  La-oc'-o-on. 

10  FTl'-let,  a  head-band. 

11  Ven'-om. 

12  Sa-van'-na,  an  open  meadow  or  plain. 


LESSON   yil. — A   LETTER  ABOUT  THE   AMPHIBIANS. 


TuE  AMPHiniANS,  OR  Batbachianb— 1.  The  Proteus,  or  "Pig  Water  I.isard,"  Mem- 
branchus  lateralis  (common  in  the  waters  of  We''tern  New  York).  2.  European  Kdlble 
Frog,  Rana  eaculenta.  3.  (Imnnion  American  Frog,  liana  (tihHttica.  4.  Surinam  Trnad, 
Pijia  Amrricana.  ^.  Southern  Squirrel  TretvToad, //.v^a  .S7ifirf?/<i.  6.  Crimson-spotted 
Triton,  Kvct,  or  Salamander,  Triton  millepv nctaUts.  7.  Common  Europoau  Water  Newt, 
IViton  cristattis.    8.  Mexican  Siren,  or  Axolot. 

Dellwild,  July  19th,  18~. 
1.  My  yottng  Frtenp, — In  beginning  this  promised  letter,! 
must  premise  that  the  amj)]ubians,  called  also,  by  some  writers, 
hatrdchians  (from  a  Greek  word  meaning  a  frog)  ^  have  been 


Pakt  II.  HEEPETOLOGY,  OR   EEPTILES.  73 

thought  by  some  naturalists  to  possess  peculiarities  sufficient- 
ly important  to  entitle  them  to  rank  as  a  group  distinct  from 
the  reptiles.  Their  arrangement,  however,  whether  among 
the  reptiles  or  as  a  distinct  class,  is  unimportant,  so  long  as 
w«^understand  that,  in  descending  from  the  higher  to  the  low- 
er forms  of  life,  they  hold  a  rank  intermediate  between  the 
true  reptiles  and  the  fishes. 

2.  The  chief  interest  connected  with  the  amphibians,  which 
comprise  the  frogs,  toads,  salamanders,  and  sirens,  lies  in  the 
curious  transformations^  or  metamorphoses^  which  they  un- 
dergo, from  the  character  of  fishes  in  their  infancy,  breathing 
by  means  of  gills,  to  the  nature  and  habits  of  true  reptiles, 
rising  to  the  dignity  of  four  legs,  and  breathing  by  means  of 
lungs.  Thus  the  common  frog  begins  life  as  a  tadpole  or pol- 
liioog^  hatched  from  an  Qgg  in  a  pond  or  in  some  marshy  place. 
In  its  fish-like  state  it  continues  for  several  weeks,  breathes 
by  means  of  gills,  and  feeds  upon  the  vegetable  food  oFfish- 
es ;  at  length  the  hinder  legs  bud,  and  are  gradually  devel- 
oped ;  ere  long  the  fore  legs  are  produced  in  a  similar  man- 
ner ;  then  gradually  the  tail  shortens,  dwindles  away,  and 
finally  disappears ;  the  gills  are  changed,  lungs  are  formed, 
and  the  tadpole  becomes  a  land  animal.  It  has  now  risen  to 
a  higher  life.  Whereas  it  before  swam  by  means  of  a  tail',  it 
now  leaps  by  means  of  legs^ ;  and  as  before  it  ate  only  roots 
and  grass',  it  now  becomes  a  hunter  of  insects  and  worms\ 

3.  Similar  changes  occur  in  all  the  amphibians,  except  that 
in  a  few  of  them,  as  in  the  sirens,  the  branchial  organs^  which 
project  from  the  sides  of  the  neck  are  permanent  through  life, 
and  the  animal  breathes  equally  well  in  the  water  and  on  the 
land.  In  their  full-grown  state  the  habits  of  the  amphibians 
are  various.  Thus  the  frogs,  newts,  many  of  the  salamanders, 
and  sirens  pass  most  of  their  time  in  the  slime  of  ponds,  riv- 
ers, and  ditches ;  others,  like  the  toads,  are  essentially  land 
animals.  Some  of  the  green  frogs,  which  inhabit  clear  run- 
ning streams,  are  extensively  eaten  in  France,  a^nd  considered 
a  great  delicacy. 

4.  The  toads,  although  a  harmless  and  inoifensive  race, 
have  had  the  misfortune  to  encounter  the  violent  prejudice 
of  mankind  in  all  ages.  A  modern  naturalist,  writing  upon 
this  subject,  says  :  "  Yet  if,  with  these  prejudices  to  contend 
against,  an  observer  of  nature  will  have  the  courage  to  place 
one  of  these  poor  creatures  in  such  a  position  as  to  examine 
its  eye,  his  disgust  or  repugnance  will  be  turned  into  pity 
and  compassion ;  and  he  will  wonder  how  such  an  expression 

D 


u 


WILLSOii  a   FIFTU   KEADEli. 


Pakt  II. 


of  mildness  and  patient  endurance  could  beam  from  the  eye 
of  a  being  to  which  nature  has  given  a  form  so  repulsive,  and 
which  ignorance  has  invested  with  venomous^  malignancy.* 
There  is  not,  in  fact,  the  least  shadow  of  truth  in  these  fabu- 
lous accounts  of  the  venom  of  the  toad,  notwithstanding^he 
authority  of  Shakspeare,  and  the  day-dreams  of  the  old  natu- 
ralists." 

5.  Equally  destitute  of  foundation  is  the  notion  that  the 
salamander  is  the  most  venomous  of  animals.  The  Romans, 
who  looked  upon  it  with  horror,  had  a  proverb,  that  he  who 
was  bitten  by  a  salamander  had  need  of  as  many  physicians 
as  the  animal  had  spots ;  and  another  more  hopeless,  *'  If  a 
salamander  bites  you,  put  on  a  shroud."  But  the  greatest 
absurdity  was  the  belief  that  the  salamander  was  incombus- 
tible— that  it  not  only  resisted  the  action  of  fire,  but  extin- 
guished it :  an  idea  which  had  no  other  foundation  than  the 
fact  that  its  body  is  covered  with  w^arty  glands,  from  which 
it  emits,  in  time  of  danger,  a  milky  fluid.  Thus  a  very  small 
fire  might  be  extinguished  by  it. 

6.  The  sirens,  which  are  found  only  in  North  America,  are 
the  most  singular  of  all  the  reptiles,  as  th6y  have  permanent 
branchial  organs,  which  project  from  the  sides  of  the  neck, 
and  can  breathe  equally  well  in  the  water  and  out  of  it.  They 
may  therefore  be  considered  the  only  true  amphibians.  The 
siren  of  the  Carolinas,  found  in  the  muddy  water  of  the 
rice-swamps,  is  nearly  two  feet  long,  and  has  only  two  legs. 
The  Mexican  siren,  or  axolot,  has  four  legs.  It  is  cooked  like 
eels,  and  is  regarded  as  a  great  delicacy.  It  was  so  plentiful 
when  Cortez  invadfed  Mexico  that  he  is  said  to  have  subsist- 
ed his  army  upon  it. 

1.  But  I  must  bid  adieu  to  my  subject,  and  close  this  series 
of  letters.  If  I  have  interested  you,  dispelled  some  preju- 
dices, disposed  you  to  look  with  more  complacency  upon  this 
part  of  God's  creation,  and  prepared  you  the  better  to  ajipre- 
ciate  the  great  whole  of  animated  nature,  the  little  time  which 
both  of  us  have  given  to  this  subject  will  not  have  been  spent 
in  vain.  Had  you  passed  this  subject  by,  it  would  not  only 
liave  been  to  you  a  link  broken  in  the  chain  of  animal  life,  but 
your  future  acquisitions  in  other  allied  sciences  would  thereby 
have  been  rendered  incomplete  and  unsatisfactory. 

1  Tbans-fok-ma'-tion,  a    mct-a-murph'-o-  '  VEN'-OM-ors,  Rpltefnl,  poisonona. 

pif,  a  change  of  form.  ♦  Ma-Uq'-nas-cv,  extreme  malice  or  hos- 

2  liRvNrH'-i-AX,  pertaining  to  the /Ara»c/«ce,     tillty. 
or  jfillti. 


SECOND  MISCELLANEOUS  DIYISIOK 


LESSON   I. — TO   A   GIRL   IN   HER  THIRTEENTH   YEAR. 

♦ 

1.  Thy  smiles,  thy  talk,  thy  aimless  plays, 

So  beautiful  approve  thee, 
So  winning  light  are  all  thy  ways, 

I  can  not  choose  but  love  thee. 
Thy  balmy  breath  upon  my  brow 

Is  like  the  summer  air. 
As  o'er  my  cheek  thou  leanest  now, 

To  plant  a  soft  kiss  there. 

2.  Thy  steps  are  dancing  toward  the  bound 

Between  the  child  and  woman, 
And  thoughts  and  feelings  more  profound. 
And  other  years  are  coming  : 


76  WILL&OX'S   FIFTH    KEADEK. 

And  thou  slialt  be  more  deeply  fair, 

More  precious  to  the  heart, 
But  never  canst  thou  be  again 

That  lovely  thing  thou  aH! 

3.  And  youth  shall  pass,  with  all  the  brood 

Of  fancy-fed  affection ; 
And^'gricf  shall  come  with  womanhood, 

And  waken  cold  reflection. 
Thou'lt  learn  to  toil,  and  watch,  and  weep 

O'er  pleasures  unreturning, 
Like  one  who  wakes  from  pleasant  sleep 

Unto  the  cares  of  morning. 

4.  Nay,  say  not  so  !  nor  cloud  the  sun 

Of  joyous  expectation, 
Ordain'd  to  bless  the  little  one, 

The  freshling  of  creation ! 
Nor  doubt  that  he  who  thus  doth  feed 

Her  early  lamp  with  gladness. 
Will  be  her  present  help  in  need. 

Her  comforter  in  sadness. 

5.  Smile  on,  then,  little  winsome  thing ! 

All  rich  in  Nature's  treasure, 
Thou  hast  within  thy  heart  a  spring 

Of  self-renewing  pleasure. 
Smile  on,  fair  child,  and  take  thy  fill 

Of  mirth,  till  time  shall  end  it ; 
'Tis  Nature's  wise  and  gentle  will — 

And  who  shall  reprehend  it  ? — Sidney  Walkeb. 


LESSON"   11. THE   LOVE    OF   COUNTRY. 

We  can  not  honor  onr  country  with  too  deep  a  reverence ; 
we  can  not  love  her  with  an  aftection  too  pure  and  fervent ; 
we  can  not  serve  her  with  an  energy  of  purpose  or  a  faithful- 
ness of  zeal  too  steadfast  and  ardent.  And  what  is  our  coun- 
try ?  It  is  not  the  JBJdst^  with  her  hillif  and  her  valleys,  with 
her  countless  sails,  and  the  rocky  ramparts  of  her  sh6res.  It 
is  not  the  North,  with  her  thousand  villages  and  her  harvest- 
^ome,  with  her  frontiers  of  the  lake  and  the  ocean.  It  is  not 
the  West,  with  her  forest-sea  and  her  inland  isles,  with  her 
luxuriant  expanses,  clothed  in  the  verdant  corn ;  with  her 
beautiful  Ohio,  and  her  verdant  Missouri.  Nor  is  it  yet  the 
Soitth,  opulent  in  the  mimic  snow  of  the  cotton,  in  the  rich 
plantations  of  the  rustling  cane,  an^  in  the  golden  robes  of  the 
rice-field.  What  are  these  but  the  sister  families  of  one 
greater,  better,  holilr family,  our  country?. — Grimke. 


SECOND   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  77 


LESSON   in. — -^  NOBLE   SEVENGE. 

1.  A  YOUNG  officer  had  so  far  forgotten  himself,  in  a  mo- 
ment of  irritation,  as  to  strike  a  private  soldier,  full  of  personal 
dignity,  and  distinguished  for  his  courage.  The  inexorable 
laws  of  military  discipline  forbade  to  the  injured  soldier  any 
practical  redress — he  could  look  for  no  retaliation  by  acts. 
Words  only  were  at  his  command,  and,  in  a  tumult  of  indig- 
nation, as  he  turned  away,  the  soldier  said  to  his  officer  that 
he  would  "  make  him  repent  it."  This,  wearing  the  shape  of 
a  menace,  naturally  rekindled  the  officer's  anger,  and  inter- 
cepted any  disposition  which  might  be  rising  within  him  to- 
ward a  sentiment  of  remorse ;  and  thus  the  irritation  between 
the  two  young  men  grew  hotter  than  before. 

2.  Some  weeks  after  this  a  partial  action  took  place  with 
the  enemy.  Suppose  yourself  a  spectator,  and  looking  down 
into  a  valley  occupied  by  the  two  armies.  They  are  facing 
each  other,  you  see,  in  martial  array.  But  it  is  no  more  than 
a  skirmish  which  is  going  on  ;  in  the  course  of  which,  how- 
ever, an  occasion  suddenly  arises  for  a  desperate  service.  A 
redoubt,  which  has  fallen  into  the  enemy's  hands,  must  be  re- 
captured at  any  price,  and  under  circumstances  of  all  but 
hopeless  difficulty. 

3.  A  strong  party  has  volunteered  for  the  service ;  there 
is  a  cry  for  somebody  to  head  them ;  you  see  a  soldier  step 
out  from  the  ranks  to  assume  this  dangerous  leadership ;  the 
party  move  rapidly  forward ;  in  a  few  minutes  it  is  swallow- 
ed up  from  your  eyes  in  clouds  of  smoke  ;  for  one  half  hour, 
from  behind  these  clouds,  you  receive  hieroglyphic  reports  of 
bloody  strife — fierce  repeating  signals,  flashes  from  the  guns, 
rolling  musketry,  and  exulting  hurras  advancing*  or  receding, 
slackening  or  redoubling. 

4.  At  length  all  is  over ;  the  redoubt  has  been  recovered ; 
that  which  was  lost  is  found  again ;  the  jewel  which  had  been 
made  captive  is  ransomed  with  blood.  Crimsoned^with  glo- 
rious gore,  the  wreck  of  the  conquering  party  is  reneved,  and 
at  liberty  to  return.  From  the  river  you  see  it  ascending. 
The  plume-crested  officer  in  command  rushes  forward,  with 
his  left  hand  raising  his  hat  in  homage  to  the  blackened  frag- 
ments of  what  once  was  a  flag,  while  with  his  right  hand  he 
seizes  that  of  the  leader,  though  not  more  than  a  private  fi'om 
the  ranks.  That  perplexes  you  not ;  mySery  you  see  none 
in  that.    For  distinctions  of  order  perish,  ranks  are  confound- 


78  WILLSON'S   FIFTU    HEADER. 

ed ;  "  high  and  low"  are  words  without  a  meaning,  and  to 
wreck  goes  every  notion  or  feehng  that  divides  the  noble 
from  the  noble,  or  the  brave  man  from  the  brave. 

5.  But  wherefore  is  it  that  now,  when  suddenly  they  wheel 
into  mutual  recognition,  suddenly  they  pause  ?  This  soldier, 
this  officer — who  are  they  ?  O  reader !  once  before  they  had 
stood  face  to  face — the  soldier  that  was  struck,  the  officer  that 
struck  liim.  Once  again  they  are  meeting ;  and  the  gaze  of 
armies  is  upon  them.  If  for  a  moment  a  doubt  divides  them, 
in  a  moment  the  doubt  has  perished.  One  glance  exchanged 
between  them  publishes  the  forgiveness  that  is  sealed  for- 
ever. 

6.  As  one  who  recovers  a  brother  w^hom  he  has  accounted 
dead,  the  officer  sprang  forward,  threw  his  arms  around  the 
neck  of  the  soldier,  and  kissed  him,  as  if  he  were  some  martyr 
glorified  by  that  shadow  of  death  from  which  he  was  return- 
ing ;  while,  on  his  part,  the  soldier,  stepping  back,  and  carry- 
ing his  hand  through  the  beautiful  motions  of  the  military 
salute  to  a  superior,  makes  this  immortal  answ^er — that  an- 
swer which  shut  up  forever  the  memory  of  the  indignity 
offered  to  him,  even  for  the  last  time  alluding  to  it :  "  Sir,"  he 
said,  "  I  told  you  before  that  I  would  make  you  repent  it." 

Thomas  de  Qdincey. 


LESSON  IV. — hamlet's  soliloquy. 

[llnmlet  contemplates  suicide  to  end  his  troubles,  but  is  deterred  by  "the  dread  of 
something  after  death."] 

To  be',  or  not^  to  be  ?     That  is  the  question' : 

Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  sufter' 

The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune', 

Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 

And,  ky  opposing',  end'  them  ?     To  die' ;  to  sleep' ;~ 

No  more ;     and,  by  a  sleep',  to  say  we  end 

The  heart-ache',  andjhe  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to ;     'tis  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wish'd.     To  die' ;~  to  sleep' ;~ 

T^leep' !  perchance  to  dream  :~  Ay',  there's  the  nib'; 

Fot  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  drCams  may  come', 

When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil', 

Must  give  us  pause.     There's  the  respect 

That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life' : 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time'. 

The  oppressor's  wrong',  the  proud  man's  contumely', 

The  pangs  of  desj)iscd  love',  the  law's  delay', 

The  insolonoijof  oflico.',  and  the  sjmrns 

That  patient  merit  of  tlie  unworthy  takes', 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 


SECOND  MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  79 

With  a  bare  bodkin*  ?     Who  would  fardels  bear, 
To  gi'oan  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life', 
But  that  the  dread  of  something  after'  death,"    , 
That  undiscover'd  country',  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveler  returns',  puzzles  the  will, 
And  makes  us  rather  bear  the  ills  we  have, 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of? 
Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  air  ; 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment. 
With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry', 
And  lose  the  name  of  action. — Shakspeake. 


LESSON   V. THE   FOLLY    OF   CASTLE-BUILDING. 

1.  Alnas'chae,  says  the  fable,  was  a  yery  idle  fellow,  who 
never  would  set  his  hand  to  any  business  during  his  father's 
life.  His  father,  dying,  left  to  him  the  value  of  a  hundred 
dmchmas  in  Persian  money.  Alnaschar,  in  order  to  make  the 
best  of  it,  laid  it  out  in  glasses,  bottles,  and  the  finest  earthen- 
ware. These  he  piled  up  in  a  large  open  basket,  and,  having 
made  choice  of  a  very  little  shop,  placed  the  basket  at  his 
feet,  and  leaned  his  back  upon  the  wall,  in  expectation  of  cus- 
tomers. As  he  sat  in  this  posture,  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
basket,  he  fell  into  a  most  amusing  train  of  thought,  and  was 
overheard  by  one  of  his  neighbors,  as  he  talked  to  himself. 
"  This  basket,"  says  he,  "  cost  me  at  the  wholesale  merchant's 
a  hundred  drachmas,  which  is  all  I  have  in  the  world. 

2.  "  I  shall  quickly  make  two  hundred  of  it  by  selling  it  in 
retail.  These  two  hundred  drachmas  will  in  a  little  while 
rise  to  four  hundred,  which  of  course  will  amount  in  time  to 
four  thousand.  Four  thousand  drachmas  can  not  fail  of  mak- 
ing eight  thousand.  As  soon  as  by  this  means  I  am  master 
often  thousand,  I  will  lay  aside  my  trade  of  a  glass-man  and 
turn  jeweler.  I  shall  then  deal  in  diamonds,  pearls,  and  all 
sorts  of  rich  stones.  When  I  have  got  together  as  much 
wealth  as  I  can  well  desire,  I  will  make  a  purchase  of  the 
finest  house  I  can  find.  I  shall  then  begin  to  enjoy  myself 
and  make  a  noise  in  the  world.  I  will  not,  however,  stop 
there,  but  still  continue  my  trafiic,  till  I  have  got  together  a 
hundred  thousand  drachmas. 

3.  "  When  I  have  thus  made  myself  master  of  a  hundred 
thousand  drachmas,  I  shall  naturally  set  myself  on  the  footing 
of  a  prince,  and  will  demand  the  Grand  Vizier's  daughter  in 
marriage,  after  having  represented  to  that  minister  the  in- 


80  wlllson's  fifth  keadejb. 

formation  which  I  have  received  of  the  beauty,  wit,  discretion, 
and  other  high  quaUties  which  his  daughter  possesses.  I 
will  let  liim  know,  at  the  same  time,  that  it  is  my  intention  to 
make  him  a  present  of  a  tliousand  pieces  of  gol#on  our  mar- 
riage night.  As  soon  as  I  have  married  the  Grand  Vizier's 
daughter,  I  will  make  my  father-in-law  a  visit  with  a  grand 
train  and  equipage ;  and  when  I  am  placed  at  his  right  hand 
— where  I  shall  be,  of  course,  if  it  be  only  to  honor  his  daugh- 
ter— I  will  give  him  the  thousand  pieces  of  gold  which  I 
promised  him,  and  afterward,  to  his  great  surprise,  will  pre- 
sent him  another  purse  of  the  same  value,  with  some  short 
speech,  as,  '  Sir,  you  see  I  am  a  man  of  my  word ;  I  always 
give  more  than  I  promise.' 

4.  "  When  I  have  brought  the  princess  to  my  house,  I  shall 
take  particular  care  to  keep  her  in  a  due  respect  for  me.  To 
this  end,  I  shall  confine  her  to  her  own  apartment,  make  her 
a  short  visit,  and  talk  but  little  to  her.  Her  women  will  rep- 
resent to  me  that  she  is  inconsolable  by  reason  of  my  unkind- 
ness,  and  Iteg  me  with  tears  to  caress  her,  and  let  her  sit  down 
by  me ;  but  I  shall  still  remain  inexorable,  and  will  turn  my 
back  upon  her.  Her  mother  will  then  come  and  bring  her 
daughter  to  me,  as  I  am  seated  upon  my  sofa.  The  daughter, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  will  fling  herself  at  my  feet,  and  beg 
of  me  to  receive  her  into  my  favor.  Then  will  I,  to  imprint 
in  her  a  thorough  veneration  for  my  person,  draw  up  my  legs 
and  spurn  her  from  me  with  my  foot,  in  such  a  manner  that 
she  shall  fall  down  several  paces  from  the  sofa." 

5.  Alnaschar  was  entirely  swallowed  up  in  this  chimerical 
vision,  and  could  not  forbear  acting  with  his  foot  what  he  had. 
in  his  thoughts.  So  that,  unluckily  striking  his  basket  of 
brittle  ware,  which  was  the  foundation  of  all  his  grandeur,  he 
kicked  his  glasses  to  a  great  distance  from  him  into  the  street, 
and  broke  them  into  ten  thousand  pieces. — Addison. 


LESSON   VI. THE   STRANGER   AND   HIS  FRIEND. 

Matt.,  XXV.,  35. 

1 .  A  POOR  wayfaring  man  of  grief 

Hath  often  crossed  me  on  my  way, 
Who  sued  so  humbly  for  relief 

That  I  could  never  answer  nay. 
I  had  not  power  to  ask  his  name, 
Whither  he  went  or  whence  he  came  ; 
Yet  there  was  something  in  his  eye 
That  won  my  lovo,  I  knew  not  why. 


SECOlS^D   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  81 

2.  Once,  when  my  scanty  meal  was  spread, 

He  entered— not  a  word  he  spake — 
Just  perishing  for  want  of  bread. 

I  gave  him  all ;  he  blessed  it,  brake, 
And  ate,  but  gave  me  part  again ; 
Mine  was  an  angel's  portion  then. 
For  while  I  fed  with  eager  haste. 
The  crust  was  manna  to  my  taste. 
8.  I  spied  him  where  a  fountain  burst 

Clear  from  the  rock ;  his  strength  was  gone ; 
The  heedless  water  nwcked  his  thirst ; 

He  heard  it,  saw  it  hurrying  on — 
I  ran,  and  raised  the  sufferer  up ; 
Twice  fi-om  the  stream  he  drained  my  cup, 
Dipp'd,  and  returned  it  running  o'er ; 
I  drank,  and  never  thirsted  more. 

4.  'Twas  night.     The  floods  were  out ;  it  blew 

A  winter  hurricane  aloof; 
I  heard  his  voice  abroad,  and  flew 

To  bid  him  welcome  to  my  roof; 
I  warmed,  I  clothed,  I  cheered  my  guest, 
I  laid  him  on  my  couch  to  rest ; 
Then  made  the  ground  my  bed,  and  seemed 
In  Eden's  garden  while  I  dreamed.  ^ 

5.  Stripp'd,  wounded,  beaten  nigh  to  death, 

I  found  him  by  the  highway  side ; 
I  roused  his  pulse,  brought  back  his  breath,  • 

Revived  his  spirit,  and  supplied 
Wine,  oil,  refreshment.     He  was  healed. 
I  had  myself  a  wound  concealed. 
But  from  that  hour  forgot  the  smart, 
And  peace  bound  up  my  broken  heart. 

6.  In  prison  I  saw  him  next,  condemned 

To  meet  a  traitor's  doom  at  morn ; 
The  tide  of  lying  tongues  I  stemmed, 

And  honored  him,  midst  shame  and  scorn. 
My  friendship's  utmost  zeal  to  try, 
He  asked  if  I  for  him  would  die  : 
The  flesh  was  \\eak,  my  blood  ran  chill, 
But  the  free  spirit  cried  "  I  will." 

7.  Then  in  a  moment  to  my  view 

The  stranger  started  from  disguise ; 
The  tokens  in  his  hands  I  knew — 

My  Savior  stood  before  my  eyes. 
He  spake,  and  my  poor  name  he  named— 
*'0f  me  thou  hast  not  been  ashamed; 
These  deeds  shall  thy  memorial  be ; 
Fear  not,  thou  didst  them  unto  me." — Montgomery. 
D2 


LESSON    Vll. — SCENE  BETWEEN  BRUTUS  AND   CASSIUS. 

Cos.  Must  I  endure  all  this'  ? 

Bru.  All  this'  ?  ay\  more' :  Fret  till  your  proud  heart  break ; 
Go  show  your  slaves  how  choleric^  you  are\ 
And  make  your  bondmen' ^Qmhla.     Must  /  budge'  ? 
Must  /  observe  you'  ?  mtret  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humor'  ?     By  the  gods\ 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen, 

Though  it  do  split^  you ;  for,  from  this  day  forth',  • 

I'll  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter, 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cos-  Is  it  come  to  this'  ? 

Bru.  You  say  you  are  a  belter^  soldier : 
Let  it  appear^  so ;  make  your  vaunting  true\ 
And  it  shall  please  me  weir :  For  mine  own  part', 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble^  men'. 

Cas.  You  wrong'  me  every^  way ;  you  wrong^  me,  Brutus' : 
I  said  an  elder^  soldier,  not  a  better' : 
Did  I  say  better'  ? 

Bru.  If  you  did\  I  care  not'. 

Cas.  When  Cajsar  lived,  he  ^urst  not  thus  have  moved  me. 

Bru.  •Peace,  peace ;  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted  him. 

Cas.  I  durst  not'  ? 

Bru.  No. 

Cas.  What !  durst  not  tempt  him'  ? 

Bru.  For  your  life^  you  durst  not. 

Cas.  Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love^ ; 
I  may^  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry^  for. 

Brti.  You  have''  done  that  you  shduld  be  sorry^  for'. 
There  is  no  terror\  Cassius',  in  your  threats^ ; 
For  I  am  arm'd  so  strong  in  honesty', 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle*wind\ 
Which  I  respect^  not.     I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold\  which  you  denied*  me — 
For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means  ; 

1  had  rather  coin  my  heart\ 

And  drop  my  blood*  for  drachmas,  than  to  >vring 

From  tlie  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash 

By  any  indirection.     I  did  send 

To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions*. 

Which  you  denied  me :  Was  that  done  like  Cassius' t 

Should  /  have  answered  Caius  Cassius  so'  ? 

When  Marcus  Brutus*  grows  so  covetous, 

To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends', 

Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts, 

Dasli'  hira  to  pieces ! 

SnAKSPEARB. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND   HEALTH. 


83 


PAET  III. 

SECOND  DIVISION  OF  HUMAN  PHYSIOLOGY 
AND  HEALTH. 

(This  subject  is  continued  from  tlie  Fourth  Reader.) 


Fig.l. 

BIDE  VIEW  OP  A  VERTICAL  SECTION  OP  THE  EYE. 


The  eyelids  are  here  closed :  a, 
upper  eyelid ;  &,  lower  eyelid ;  i, 
transparent  cornea,  immediately 
beneath  the  eyelid;  r,  anterior 
chamber  of  the  aqueous  humor ; 
cr,  posterior  chamber  of  the  aque- 
ous humor ;  wi,  the  iris,  with  its 
circular  opening  called  '•'•  the  pu- 
pil," in  the  direction  toward  which 
V  is  pointing ;  ^,  the  crystalline 
humor  or  lens ;  s,  s,  the  vitreous 
humor ;  e,  e,  between  these  pass- 
}  es  the  optic  nei'\'e ;  o,  o,  the  reti- 
na, which  is  an  expansion  of  the 
optic  nerve  spreading  over  the 
vitreous  humor.  The  retina  is 
considered  the  inner  coat  of  the 
eye.  Next  outward  of  this  i8.?,j, 
the  choroid  coat,  of  a  dark  color, 
and  filled  with  minute  branches 
of  blood-vessels.  Adjoining  this 
ia.  /i,  /?,  the  sclerotic  coat,  or  white 
of  the  eye,  into  wliich  the  cornea  fits  like  a  watch-glass  into  its  case;  r,  capsular  artery. 

LESSON   I. — THE   WINDOW   OF  THE   SOUL. 

1.  The  Eye  has  been  appropriately  called  the  "  window  of 
the  soul."  It  opens  to  us,  by  its  wonderful  mechanism,  a 
world  of  beauty,  enabling  us  to  perceive  the  form,  color,  size, 
and  position  of  surrounding  objects ;  and  it  probably  contrib- 
utes more  to  the  enjoyment  and  happiness  of  man  than  any 
other  of  the  organs  through  which  mind  holds  communion 
with  the  external  world. 

2.  A  general  knowledge  of  its  structure  and  action,  as  a 
living  instrument  of  vision,  may  be  gathered  from  the  draw- 
ing above,  by  the  aid  of  a  brief  description.  The  eyelids — the 
shutters  to  this  window — which  open  and  close  to  admit  or 
exclude  the  light,  stand  also  as  watchful  guardians  to  protect 
the  instrument  from  danger;  and  by  their  involuntary  ac- 
tion the  hard  and  transparent  cornea  at  the  front  of  the  eye 
is  kept  constantly  lubricated,^  and  free  from  dust. 

3.  Back  of  this  cornea  is  a  chamber  containing  the  aqueous^ 
or  watery  humor  \^  and  suspended  in  this  is  a  circular  curtain, 
the  colored  iris^  which  has  the  power  of  contracting  and  dilat- 
ing, to  regulate  the  quantity  of  light  that  enters  the  round 


84  willson's  fifth  eeadek.  Pabt  III. 

opening  in  its  centre,  called  the  pupil.  Imniediately  back  of 
the  pupil  is  the  crystalline^  lens,  composed  of  numerous  lay- 
ers or  coatings,  which  increase  in  density  toward  the  centre ; 
an  arrangement  which  prevents  that  spherical  aberration,  or 
too  great  dispersion  of  the  rays  of  light,  which  it  has  been 
found  so  difficult  to  overcome  in  artificial  lenses.  Back  of  the 
crystalline  lens,  and  filling  a  large  part  of  the  cavity  of  the  eye, 
is  the  vitreous^  or  glassy  humor,  and  spread  over  this  is  the 
thin  and  delicate  membrane  of  the  retina^^  which  is  the  expan- 
sion of  the  optic  nerve. 

4.  It  is  on  the  retina,  where  it  Qoncfentrates  at  the  back  part 
of  the  ball  to  form  the  optic  nerve,  that  the  images  of  objects 
at  which  the  eye  looks,  whether  near  or  distant,  are  beautiful- 
ly pictured  or  daguerreotyped.  We  can  not  look  without 
wonder  upon  the  smallness  yet  correctness  of  these  pictures. 
Thus  a  landscape  of  several  miles  in  extent  is  brought  into 
the  space  of  a  sixpence,  yet  the  objects  which  it  contains  are 
all  distinctly  portrayed  in  their  relative  magnitudes,  positions, 
figures,  and  colors,  with  a  fineness  and  delicacy  of  touch  to 
which  art  can  make  no  approach. 

5.  Yet  the  mechanical  part  of  this  apparatus — its  beautiful 
structure,  its  perfect  adaptation  to  the  laws  of  light,  and  its 
ready  adjustment  to  meet  the  ever-varying  degrees  of  light, 
and  shade,  and  distance — are  far  less  wonderful  than  the  men- 
tal or  spiritual  part,  the  manner  in  which  the  pictures  on  the 
retina  are  made  known  to  the  mind  or  soul  within,  through 
the  medium  of  the  optic  nerve.  The  former  is  a  mechanical 
wonder,  of  which  we  comprehend  sufficient  to  excite  our  un- 
bounded admiration;  the  latter  is  a  spiritual  mystery,  of 
which  we  know  nothing  but  the  bare  fact  itself 

6.  Mr.  Addison,  in  a  number  of  the  Spectator,  has  drawn  a 
much-admired  picture  of  the  sense  of  sight,  in  the  introduc- 
tion to  the  first  of  his  celebrated  Essays  on  the  Pleasures  of 
the  Imagination.  We  select  the  opening  passages,  which  Mr. 
Blair  so  highly  commends  for  their  rhetorical  grace  and  beauty. 

7.  "Our  sip;lit  is  the  most  perfect  and  most  delightful  of  all  our  senses. 
It  fills  the  mind  with  the  largest  variety  of  ideas,  converses  witli  its  objects 
at  the  greatest  distance,  and  continues  the  longest  in  action  without  being 
tired  or  satiated  with  its  proper  enjoyments. 

8.  "  The  sense  of  feeling  can  indeed  give  us  the  idea  of  extension,  figure, 
and  all  the  other  properties  of  matter  which  are  perceived  by  the  eye  ex- 
cept colors ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  very  much  stiaitcned  and  confined 
in  its  operations  with  regard  to  tlie  number,  bulk,  and  distance  of  its  ob- 
jects. 

9.  "Our  sight  seems  designed  to  supply  all  these  defects,  and  may  be 
considered  as  a  more  delicate  and  diffusive  kind  of  touch,  that  spread^  it- 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND   HEALTH.  85 

self  over  an  infinite  multitude  of  bodies,  comprehends  the  largest  figures, 
and  brings  into  our  reach  some  of  the  most  remote  parts  of  the  universe. 

10.  "  It  is  this  sense  which  furnishes  the  imagination  with  its  ideas :  and 
by  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination  or  fancy  (terms  which  I  shall  use  pro- 
miscuously) I  here  mean  such  as  arise  from  visible  objects,  either  when  we 
have  them  actually  in  our  view,  or  when  we  call  up  their  ideas  in  our  minds 
by  paintings,  statues,  descriptions,  or  other  similar  means. 

11.  "  We  can  not,  indeed,  have  a  single  image  in  the  fancy  that  did  not 
make  its  first  entrance  through  the  sight ;  but  we  have  the  power  of  retain- 
ing, altering,  and  compounding  those  images  which  we  have  once  received, 
and  of  forming  them  into  all  the  varieties  of  picture  and  vision  that  are 
most  agreeable  to  the  imagination ;  for,  by  this  faculty,  a  man  in  a  dun- 
geon is  capable  of  entertaining  himself  with  scenes  and  landscapes  more 
beautiful  than  any  that  can  be  found  in  the  whole  compass  of  nature." 

1  Lu'-BEi-€A-TED,  made  smooth  or  slipperyis  €ey8'-tal-ltne,  clear ;  resembling  crystal, 

by  moisture.  [*  Ret'-i-na,  plural  ret'-i-nce. 

a  Hc'-MOB,  (jiu'-mor^  or  hu'-mor).  \ 


LESSON   II. ^THE   LIVING  TEMPLE.l 

Oliver  Wkndell  Holmes. 

1.  Not  in  the  world  of  light  alone, 
Where  God  has  built  his  blazing  throne', 
Nor  yet  alone  in  earth  below, 

With  belted  seas  that  come  and  go', 
And  endless  isles  of  sunlit  green, 
Is  all  thy  Maker's  glory  seen' : 
Look  in  upon  thy  wondrous  frame\~ 
Eternal  wisdom  still  the  same^ ! 

2.  The  smooth,  soft  air,  with  pulse-like  waves. 
Flows  murmuring  through  its  hidden  caves,' 
Whose  streams  of  brightening  purple  rush, 
Fired  with  a  new  and  livelier  blush,^ 
While  all  their  burden  of  decay 

The  ebbing  current  steals  away^  ;* 
And  red  with  Nature's  flame  they  start 
From  the  warm  fountains  of  the  heart. 

3.  No  rest  that  throbbing  slave*  may  ask, 
Forever  quivering  o'er  his  task, 
Wliile  far  and  wide  a  crimson  jet 
Leaps  forth  to  fill  the  woven  net,  ® 
Which  in  unnumbered  crossing  tides 
The  flood  of  burning  life  divides ; 
Then,  kindling  each  decaying  part, '' 
Creeps  back  to  find  the  throbbing  heart. 

4.  But,  warmed  with  that  unchanging  flame, ^ 
Behold  the  outward  moving  frame  ^ ; 

Its  living  marbles  jointed  strong 

With  glistening  band  and  silvery  thong,** 


86  willson's  fifth  eeadee.  Pakt  m. 

And  linked  to  reason's  guiding  reins'" 
By  myriad  rings''  in  trembling  chains, 
Each  graven  with  the  threaded  zone'^ 
Which  claims  it  as  the  Master's  own. 

5.  See  how  yon  beam  of  seeming  white 
Is  braided  out  of  seven-hued  light  ;'^ 
Yet  in  those  lucid  globes-*  no  ray 
By  any  chance  shall  break  astray. 
Hark  how  the  rolling  surge'*  of  sound, 
Arches  and  spirals  circling  round, 
Wakes  the  hushed  spirit  through  thine  ear 
With  music  it  is  heaven  to  hear. 

C.  ThdYi  mark  the  cloven  sphere*^  that  holds    • 
All  thought  in  its  mysterious  folds ; 
That  feels  sensation's'^  faintest  thrill. 
And  flashes^"  forth  the  sovereign  will ; 
Think  on  the  stormy  w^orld  that  dwells 
Locked  in  its  dim  and  clustering  cells!'* 
The  lightning  gleams  of  power  it  sheds 
Along  its  hollow  glassy  threads  I*** 

7.  O  Father' !  grant  thy  love  divine 
To  make  these  mystic  temples  thine^ ! 
When  wasting  age  and  wearj'ing  strife 
Have  sapped  the  leaning  walls  of  life', 
When  darkness  gathers  over  all, 
And  the  last  tottering  pillars  fall'. 
Take  the  poor  dust  thy  mercy  warms. 
And  mould  it  into  heavenly  forms  ! 

[A  full  explanation  of  the  foregoing  exquisitely  beautiful  verses  would  lead  to  a  gen- 
eral review  of  the  entire  subject  of  Physiology.  Every  pupil  should  give  as  much  expla- 
nation, at  Icawt,  as  is  contained  in  the  following  notes.] 

1  The  human  frame. 

2  The  air-cells  of  the  lung^. 

3  The  blood,  by  being  purified  in  the  lungs,  is  changed  from  a  dark  purple  to  a  light 
crimson  hue.     See  Fourth  Header,  p.  4S. 

*  "  Kbbing  current" — the  expired  air.  A  great  portion  of  the  decayed  and  worn-out 
particles  of  the  body  are  thrown  out  from  the  lungs  in  the  form  of  carbonic  acid  and  va- 
por.    See  Fourth  Header,  p.  50. 

6  The  heart.     See  Fourtli  Reader,  p.  51. 

6  u  Woven  net" — the  net-work  of  veins  and  capillaries.  See  Fourth  Reader,  p.  51 
and  60. 

7  The  blood  supplies  new  material  to  all  parts  of  the  body,  and  bears  back  to  the  lungs 
the  decaying  and  worn-out  particles. 

8  The  warm  blood  is  often  spoken  of  as  the  flame  of  life. 

9  Tendons,  cords,  and  sinews  knit  the  ''  marbles,"  or  bony  frame-work  strongly  to- 
gether, as  with  thonqi*. 

10  The  frame-work  of  the  body  is  linked  to  the  "  guiding  reins,"  or  the  mind,  by  those 
"  tremblitig  chainn,"  the  nerve  tubes,  or  nerve  fibres.     See  page  90. 

11  All  the  tisfues  of  the  body  are  formed  primarily  of  celU<.  (^lls,  opening,  form  rings; 
and  the.^c  riuf^s  unite,  in  certain  cases,  to  form  nerve  fibres.  Hence  these  nerve  fibres  may 
well  be  described  as  "  myriad  rings  in  trembling  chains." 

12  The  ''  threaded  zone,"  or  hollow  of  each  nej-ve  fibre,  contains  a  fluid  substance  like 
that  found  in  the  brain  itself. 

13  The  "  seeming  white"  light  is  made  up  of  the  seven  primarjj  colors,  rerf,  orange,  yel- 
lotP,  nreeyi,  hliie,  imh'ijo,  and  violet. 

1*  The  balls  of  the  eye,  through  whose  humors  the  rays  of  light  pass  to  the  retina. 
15  The  air,  whoso  vibrations  in  the  chambers  of  the  car  give  the  sensation  which  wo 
call  soxuid. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN-  PHYSIOLOGY   AND    HEALTH.  87 

'8  "  Cloven  sphere" — the  two  hemispheres  of  the  braiu ;  the  seat  of  "•all  thought."  See 
p.  SO. 

1''  That  receives  impressions  through  the  "nerves  of  feeling,"  or  sensory  nerves.  See 
p.  91. 

18  That  sends  forth  its  commands  through  the  motor  nerves.     See  p.  90. 

i9  The  nerve-cells,  forming  the  gray  sub.stance  of  the  brain.     See  p.  92. 

20  "  Glassy  threads" — the  nerve  threads  or  nerve  fibres. 


LESSO^N"  III. — THE  bkain:  the  nerves  of  voluntary 

MOTION   AND   THE   NERVES    OF   FEELING. 

1.  In  that  part  of  the  Fourth  Reader  which  was  devoted 
to  "Human  Physiology  and  Health,"  we  treated  of  the  bones', 
and  the  injuries  to  Avhich  they  are  liable^ ;  of  the  muscles', 
and  the  laws  of  their  healthy  action^ ;  of  the  organs  that  j^re- 
pare  nourishment  for  the  body',  their  proper  treatment',  and 
the  variety  of  ways  in  which  we  too  often  abuse^  them ;  of 
the  organs  of  circulation  and  of  respiration,  and  their  myste- 
rious workings^ ;  of  the  skin,  its  uses  and  abuses,  and  its  com- 
plicated mechanism^ ;  of  the  phenomena  of  growth  and  decay, 
of  life  and  death^;  and  generally'  of  the  laws  of  health  which 
depend  upon  the  harmonious  action  of  all  the  bodily  organs. 
The  functions  of  which  we  treated  were  those  chiefly  of  or- 
ganic life,  which,  to  a  certain  extent,  are  common  to  both 
plants  and  animals ;  for  both  live  and  grow,  decay  and  die, 
through  organic  processes  that  are  essentially  alike.  As  we 
have  before  stated,  the  microscope  has  shown,  in  a  most  strik- 
ing manner,  that  vegetables  and  animals  are  alike  construct* 
ed  of  cells. 

2.  But  the  parts  and  functions  which  we  have  described 
are,  in  all  animals,  subordinate  to  the  Nervous  System,  the 
higher  department  of  animal  physiology,  to  the  study  of  which 
we  shall  devote  several  of  the  lessons  in  the  present  Part  of 
this  volume.  It  is  through  this  system  that  all  governing 
power  is  exerted  in  the  body^ ;  that  the  muscles  are  made  to 
move',  and  the  blood  to  flow^ ;  that  respiration  and  digestion 
are  carried  on^ ;  that  growth  is  regulated',  and  every  action 
directed  in  the  thousand  mysterious  processes  of  life^ ;  and  it 
is  through  the  same  channel  also  that  the  mind  derives  sens- 
ations and  perceptions  from,  and  holds  communion  with,  the 
external  world.  It  is  also  found  that,  throughout  all  animal 
life,  from  the  lowest  grades  up  to  the  highest,  the  degree  of 
intelligence  bears  a  close  relation  to  the  degree  of  develop- 
ment of  the  nervous  system. 

3.  What,  then,  is  this  nervous  system  in  man,  that  ranks  so 


'88 


WILLSON'S  FIFTH   EEADEB. 


pabt  m. 


high  above  every  other  in  the  body  as  to  be  the  direct  agent 
on  which  all  the  functions  of  Hfe  depend,  and  which,  in  our 
mortal  state,  is  the  immediate  minister  and  messenger  of  the 
mind,  and  of  the  principle  of  life  itself^  ?  It  is  a  brief  and  easy 
answer  to  say  that  this  nervous  system  consists  of  all  the 
nerves  in  the  body,  of  which  the  chief  bundles  or  masses  are 
the  brain,  and  the  spinal  marrow,  and  several  other  small  nerv- 
ous bundles  called  ganglia.  But  to  explain  the  functions  of 
these  is  a  more  complicated  matter ;  and  their  study  will  be 
found  to  have  an  intimate  connection  with  the  study  of  mind 
itself,  or  mental  philosophy.* 

4.  The  brain  is  that  large  organized  mass  which,  with  its 
enveloping  membranes,  completely  fills  the  cavity  of  the  skull. 
It  is  divided  vertically  nearly  into  two  halves  by  a  deep  fissure 
or  cleft,  as  is  seen  in  the  illustration.  Fig.  2,  given  below ; 
and  its  surface  is  singularly  roughened  by  elevations  and  de- 
pressions, which  have  the  appearance  of  folds  closely  crowd- 
ed upon  each  other.  The  chief  mass  of  the  brain  is  called 
the  cerehrum^  or  great  brain ;  below,  and  somewhat  back 
of  this,  is  the  ceTebellutn^  or  little  brain ;  and  connected  with 
and  proceeding  from  both  is  the  spinal  cord,  or  spinal  mtir- 
row,  which  extends  downward  through  the  spinal  column  or 


Fig, 

TJITEE  SURFACE 


TUE   BEAIN. 


if  that  instminent  becomes 


Fig.  2.  Tliis  engraving  represents  the 
appearance  of  the  upper  surface  of  the 
brain,  after  its  covering,  the  skull,  has 
been  removed.  The  figures  1,  1,  show 
the  anterior  or  front  lobes,  and  2,  2,  the 
posterior  lobes ;  while  from  3  to  3  ex- 
tends what  is  called  the  great  median 
fissure,  which  divides  the  brain  into  two 
hemispheres,  or  halves.  The  figures  5, 
5,  point  to  what  are  called  the  anterior 
parietal  convolutions ;  6,  6,  to  the  poste- 
rior; 7, 7,  to  the  rudimentary;  8,  8,  to  the 
frontal  convolutions  ;  and  9, 9,  to  the  oc- 
cipital. Not  only  is  the  brain  a  double 
organ,  sending  fortli  its  nerves  by  pairs, 
but  the  same  symujotric«l  doublenoss  is 
continued  througliout  the  wliole  nervous 
sy.-item.  It  ir<  believed  thiit  each  l»alf  of 
Mie  brain  can  act  seiiarately,  but  that 
botli  can  best  act  simiiltaneously. 

"  While  It  is  true  that  any  unusual  and 
healthy  development  of  bruin  is  attend- 
ed with  correspondingly  incn'ased  men- 
tal powers,  yet  in  thi-  - •  •a*  over- 
look the  merely  inffi  re  of 
the  organ,     Thougli                        -  in  it 

may  produce  a  muiiiu    . .i y,  tbat 

inferiority  is  by  no  means  to  be  referred 
to  the  intellectual  principle  itself.     The 
mode  of  action  being  by  an  instrument, 
imperfect  the  action  becomes  imperfect  too." — Drapeb. 


The  subject  of  Mental  Philosophy  will  bo  taken  up  in  tho  Sixth  Reader. 


2d  DlV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY    AND    HEALTH. 


89 


back-bone.     In  the  engraving  at  the  foot  of  page  91  is  repre- 
sented an  internal  side  view  of  the  right  half  of  the  brain. 

5.  The  brain  is  composed  of  a  soft  jelly-like  substance,  very 
much  like  the  -marrow  which  is  found  in  bones.  The  interior 
portion,  which  is  of  a  white  color,  is  composed  of  exceedingly 
minute  tubes,  which  are  the  beginnings  of  the  nerves.  These 
little  nerve  tubes  are  exceedingly  minute ;  but  where  they 
start  from  the  brain  a  bundle  of  them  is  generally  inclosed  in 
a  sheath ;  then  this  bundle  is  divided  and  subdivided,  branch- 
ing out  in  smaller  and  smaller  divisions,  until  each  little  nerve 
tube  is  connected  with  some  one  muscular  fibre  or  some  one 
sensitive  point  in  the  body.  Each  of  these  little  fubes,  al- 
though sometimes  too  small  to  be  distinctly  seen  by  the  mi- 
croscope, is  supposed  to  be  entirely  separate  from  its  fellow 
nerves,  and  unconnected  with  them  from  its  beginning  to  its 
termination. 

6.  We  will  now  explain  the  uses  of  these  little  nerve  tubes, 
of  which  there  are  millions  in  the  body,  and  we  will  do  it  by 
supposing  a  particular  case  in  which  they  are  used.  If  the 
mind  wishes  to  move  the  right  hand  it  sends  a  message  down- 
ward from  the  brain  along  the  course  of  the  spinal  cord  in  the 
neck,  and  thence  down  along  the  arm  through  a  bundle  of 
the  nerves  that  run  to  the  hand.     If  the  mind  wishes  the 

■'%         


Fig.  3. 

BASK  OF  THE  BKAIN. 


Fig.  3  represents  the  base  of  the  brain 
as  seen  from  below,  together  with  some 
of  the  double  sets  of  nerves  branching 
from  it.  Here  the  figures  1,  1,  repre- 
sent the  anterior  or  front  lobes,  and  3, 
3,  the  lobes  of  the  cerebellum^  which 
lies  at  the  base  of  the  back  part  of  the 
skull.  From  4  to  18  is  the  line  of  the 
median  fissure.  Figure  13  points  to 
the  medulla  oblongata,  or  severed  por- 
tion of  the  upper  part  of  the  spinal 
marrow ;  22,  to  one  of  the  olfactory- 
nerves,  or  nerves  of  smell ;  24,  to  the 
beginning  of  tlie  pair  of  optic  nerves, 
or  nerves  of  sight;  while  25  and  28 
point  to  one,  each,  of  pairs  of  oculo- 
motor nerves,  or  nerves  that  direct  the 
motions  of  the  eyes;  27  and  29  to 
nerves  that  move  the  muscles  of  the 
face,  and  30  to  the  auditory  nerves,  or 
nerves  of  hearing.  The  douhlcness  of 
the  nerves  is  here  well  illustrated  ;  and 
this  is  the  characteristic  of  the  wliole 
nervous  system,  the  cranial  and  spinal 
nerves  coming  forth  Ini  paira  to  their 
distribution  on  the  right  and  left  sides 
of  the  body.  The  object  of  this  ar- 
rangement is  evidently  to  increase  the 
precision  of  nervous  action,  and  to  com- 
pensate readily  for  any  incidental  de- 
fects. 


90  willson's  fifth  EEADER.  Part  III. 

whole  hand  to  move,  it  sends  the  message  through  all  the 
nerves  that  run  there,  and  one  tells  the  little  finger,  another 
the  fore-finger,  and  another  the  thumb,  etc.,  what  to  do.  If 
the  mind  wishes  the  fingers  to  strike  the  keys  of  the  piano,  it 
tells  each  finger,  through  its  own  nerves,  what  key  to  strike. 
These  nerves,  through  which  the  mind  sends  out  its  commands 
to  the  fingers,  and  to  every  muscle  in  every  part  of  the  body, 
telling  each  when  and  how  to  act,  are  called  motor  nerves, 
or  nerves  of  motion.  If  the  bundle  of  motor  nerves  running 
to  the  hand  should  be  cut  in  two,  the  hand  would  not  move ! 
And  why^  ?  Because  it  could  receive  no  command  from  the 
brain ;  and  it  will  not  move  without  orders  from  /ie«f7-quarters. 
V.  But  there  is  another  set  of  nerves  running  to  the  hand 
besides  the  nerves  of  motion.  What  if  the  fore-finger  had 
been  directed,  in  the  dark,  to  touch  a  certain  key  of  the  pia- 
no, and  had  chanced  to  press  upon  the  sharp  point  of  a  nee- 
dle or  the  blade  of  a  knife !  How  could  the  mind  be  inform- 
ed of  the  danger^  ?  Not  by  the  nerves  of  motion^  for  their 
only  office  is  to  convey  commands  outward  from  the  brain. 
Another  set  of  nerves  is  needed,  and  such  has  been  provided 
in  the  nerves  offeeli7ig.  As  soon  as  the  finger  presses  upon 
the  needle's  point,  some  of  these  numerous  and  minute  nerves 
of  feeling  are  pierced,  and  instantaneously  they  convey  the  in- 
telligence to  the  b^n.  As  quick  as  thought,  a  command  is 
then  sent  down,  through  the  nerves  of  motion,  to  withdraw 
the  finger,  if  possible,  before  any  serious  injury  is  received. 
If  the  bundle  of  nerves  of  feeling  running  to  the  hand  should 
be  severed,  the  finger  might  be  pierced  through,  or  cut  ofl?*, 


EXTERNAL  SIDB  VIKW  OP  THE  BRAIN. 


Fig.  4.  Fig.  4  represents  an  external 

pide  view  of  tlie  ripht  half  of  the 
brain.  At  1  ir»  seen  the  medulla 
oblongata,  or  beginning  of  the 
spinal  marrow  ;  at  3,  a  sido  view 
of  the  crrrbcllttm^nr  little  brain. 
Tlie  chief  office  of  the  cerebellum 
is  believed  to  be  that  of  combining, 
regulating,  and  directing  all  the 
muscular  movements.  From  ex- 
periment.-<  on  auimali*,  it  is  found 
that  when  it  is  cut  it  gives  ri?e 
to  neither  motion  nor  ."ensation, 
but  wheu  it  U  remcr\-ed  in  Klices 
the  animal  gradually  lose?  all 
power  of  rernd'itinp  iti^  motions. 
The  weight  of  the'cerelH'Uum  is 
about  one  eighth  of  that  of  the 
cerebrum.  The  avenige  weight 
of  the  entire  bniin  in  man  is  about 
fifty  ouncfs ;  in  female:"  about  for- 
ty -five. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND    HEALTH. 


91 


and  the  mind  have  no  knowledge  of  it !  And  why^  ?  Because 
no  notice  of  the  injury  could  be  sent  from  the  finget  up  to  the 
brain. 

8.  The  following  fact  illustrates  the  use  of  the  nerves  of 
feeling  in  preventing  injury.  A  man  who  had  lost  all  sensi- 
bility in  the  right  hand,  on  account  of  an  injury  to  the  bundle 
of  nerves  of  feeling,  while  the  nerves  of  motion  were  still 
perfect,  lifted  the  cover  of  a  pan  when  it  was  burning  hot. 
Although  he  could  feel  no  pain,  the  consequence  was  the  loss 
of  the  skin  of  the  fingers  and  of  the  palm  of  the  hand,  laying 
bare  the  muscles  and  tendons.  If  the  nerves  of  feeling  had 
not  been  injured,  the  warning  of  pain  would  have  been  in- 
stantly given  to  the  brain,  and  orders  would  have  been  sent 
to  the  muscles  to  relax  their  grasp  of  the  cover ;  and  so  rapid 
would  have  been  thes'e  messages,  through  the  nerves  of  feel- 
ing, to  the  brain,  ^d  back  through  the  nerves  of  motion,  that 
the  cover  would  have  been  dropped  soon  enough  to  prevent 
any  great  amount  of  injury  from  being  done. 

9.  In  the  foregoing  explanation  we  have  a  general  view  of 
the  functions  of  the  nervous  system,  which  consists,  principal- 
ly, of  the  brain  and  the  spinal  marrow,  and  numerous  sets  of 
two  kinds  of  nerves  running  from  them  to  all  parts  of  the 
body.  The  nerves  of  feeling  and  the  nerves  of  motion  are, 
so  far  as  we  can  discover,  the  same  m  structure  and  in  com- 
position ;  but  as  the  offices  which  they  perform  are  entirely 


Fig.  5. 


INTERNAL  BIDE  VFEW   OP  THE  BBAIN. 
Sa        3A      SO 


Fig.  5  represents  an  internal 
Bide  view  of  the  right  half  of  the 
brain  —  the  brain  being  cut  or 
split  downward  from  the  white 
body  in  the  centre.  At  1  is  shown 
the  half  of  the  medulla  oblonga- 
ta; 4  points  to  what  is  called 
the  arbor'vitce^  or  '•'•  tree  of  life," 
of  the  cerebellum ;  20  points  to 
the  origin  of  one  of  the  nerves  that 
move  the  eyes ;  and  21  to  the  or- 
igin of  the  optic  nerve,  whicli  is 
seen  proceeding  toward  the  eye  ; 
26  points  to  what  here  appears 
as  a  crescent-shaped  white  sub- 
stance, called  the  corpus  callosum. 
It  appears  to  be  the  peculiar  office 
of  the  cerebellum  to  direct,  com- 
bine, and  control  muscular  mo- 
tions; and  those  animals  which 
have  it  the  most  fully  developed 
excel  in  their  powers  of  motion, 
and  are  distinguished  by  the  com- 
plication of  their  movements.  If 
removed  by  degrees,  in  success- 
ive slices,  the  motions^  of  the  ani- 
mal become  irregular,  and,  finally,  it  loses  all  power  of  walking  or  of  maintaining  its  equi- 
librium. 


92 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH    READER. 


Part  III. 


different,  there  is  something  about  them  which  we  do  not  yet 
understand.  Nor  can  we  understand  hoic  the  mind  receives 
impressions  through  one  set,  and  sends  out  messages  and 
causes  motion  through  another,  for  this  would  be  to  under- 
stand hoio  mind  acts  upon  matter,  and  how  the  spiritual  is 
connected  with  the  material  world. 

10.  But  there  is  one  thing  more  about  the  brain  which  we 
may  explain  here.  We  have  said  that  the  central  part  of  it 
is  of  a  white  color,  and  composed  of  the  beginnings  of  the 
minute  nerve  tubes  which  we  have  described.  But  all  around 
this  white  inner  part  is  a  thick  layer  of  gray  substance, 
thickly  lining  the  interior  of  all  the  convolutions  or  folds  of 
the  brain ;  and  this  gray  substance  is  composed  of  minute 
-cells^  intermingled  with  which  are  exceedingly  minute  and 
numerous  blood-vessels,  which  supply  the  cells  with  their  req- 
uisite nourishment.  This  cellular  substance  of  the  brain  is 
acknowledged  by  physiologists  to  be  the  seat  or  dwelling- 
place  of  the  mind — of  the  intellect  itself;  and  the  mind — the 
ruling  power  within  us — is  believed  to  act  directly  upon  this 
gray  matter,  while  the  white  substance  serves  only  to  trans- 
mit messages  to  the  muscular  fibres,  and  bring  back  impres- 
sions. It  is  found,  in  examining  the  brains  of  animals,  that, 
the  greater  the  intelligence,  the  more  abundant  is  the  gray 
substance ;  and  in  man  it  is  especially  abundant,  constituting 
much  the  largest  proportion  of  the  brain. 


1  Ceb'-e-bbum. 


2  Cke-e-bFx'-lum. 


Fig.  6.  At  A  is  repr&'ented  a  collection  of  nerve-cellii, 
nerve  fibres,  and  blood-vessels  from  the  human  brain, 
greatly  magnified.  This  is  from  tliat  part  of  the  brain 
called  the  optic  thalamus.  At  a  is  shown  one  of  these 
nerve-cells  still  more  highly  magnified.  The  branching 
tube  ill  A  ia  a  blood-vessel  showing  the  circular  blood-cells 
floating  in  it.  (See  Fourth  Header,  p.  32.)  At  B,  U  are 
ropre.iented  some  of  the  nerve-cells  found  in  the  pray  suo- 
stance  of  the  brain.  These  cells,  which  have  a  nucleus,  or 
centml  particle,  are  originally  globular,  but  many  often 
assume  various  shapes,  and  often  .shoot  out  in  branches. 
While  the  nervous  ///))•(«  conduct  external  impressions  to 
the  brain,  and  transmit  nervous  influences  from  it,  the 
ncrve-<^^/?s  are  supj)osed  to  be  the  various  centres  which 
receive  the  impressions  and  originate  the  nei-vous  influ- 
ences, under  the  directing  jiower  of  the  mental  principle. 
A  collection  or  bundle  of  tiiese  cells  is  called  a  reside, 
which  may  be  regarded  as  a  temporary  magazine  of  nerv- 
ous power,  with  its  many  coll-like  divisions,  each  of  which 
has  some  particular  duty  to  perform.  Thns  the  form  of 
the  large  cell  at  B  (highly  magnified)  would  indicate  that 
it  may  receive  nervous  influence  from  two  directions,  and 
then  transmit  it,  as  occasioa  demands,  io  four  or  five  direc- 
tions. 


2cl  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND    HJiA.LTk.  93 


LESSON"   lY. — OTHER   FORMS    OF   NERVOUS   ACTION. 

1.  In  the  preceding  lesson  we  contemplated  nervous  action 
in  only  two  of  its  forms — as  producing  sensation  and  volun- 
tary motion,  in  which  the  mind  is  the  recipient  in  one  case, 
and  the  active  agent  in  the  other.  But  much  of  the  muscu- 
lar motion  of  the  body  is  produced  without  the  agency  of  the 
will  or  mind,  and  sometimes  even  in  opposition  to  it.  It 
would  not  answer  to  intrust  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  and 
the  acts  of  breathing  and  digestion,  to  the  control  of  the 
mind ;  for  the  mind  might  slumber  or  be  forgetful ;  or  the 
brain,  which  is  its  organ,  might  be  diseased,  and  then  the 
pulsations  of  the  heart  would  stop,  the  lungs  and  the  stom- 
ach would  cease  their  labors,  and  the  body  would  die.  But 
by  a  most  wonderful  provision  the  heart  beats  on,  even  when 
the  mind  takes  no  notice  of  it ;  and  the  stomach  performs  the 
labor  of  digestion,  and  the  lungs  that  of  respiration,  inde- 
pendently of  the  will.  By  what  agency,  then,  is  it  that  these 
and  many  other  involuntary  motions  are  produced^  ?  The 
answer  to  this  question  will  open  a  new  view  of  the  wonders 
of  the  nervous  system. 

2.  We  have  stated  that  the  spinal  marrow,  proceeding  from 
the  brain,  extends  downward  through  the  spinal  column  or 
back-bone.  Its  substance  and  structure  are  similar  to  those 
of  the  brain,  except  that  the  nervous  tubes — the  white  mat- 
ter— compose  the  outer  portions  of  it,  and  the  gray  cellular 
matter  the  inner  parts.  Along  the  outer  portion  run  the  two 
kinds  of  nerves  from  the  brain,  those  of  motion  and  those  of 
feeling,  branching  off  here  and  there  to  various  parts  of  the 
body.*  But,  in  addition  to  these  nerves  which  it  transmits 
along  its  channel,  the  spinal  marrow  sends  off  nerves  of  its 
own  to  the  heart,  lungs,  stomach,  etc.,  and  other  internal  or- 
gans. It  has  long  been  known  that  all  the  nerves  from  the 
spinal  marrow  arc  sent  off  in  pairs  through  the  two  furrows 
on  each  side  of  the  back-bone,  and  that  each  pair  has  two 
roots,  one  root  coming  from  the  back  portion,  and  the  other 
from  the  front.  These  two  roots  unite  as  soon  as  they  have 
fairly  left  the  spinal  cord,  after  which  their  fibres  branch  off 
to  the  several  places  of  their  destination. 

•  Whether  these  nerves  are  continuous  all  the  way  from  the  brain,  as  was  formerly  sup- 
posed, or  not,  is  now  doubted.  If  not,  impressions  must  bo  transmitted  from  the  brain 
first  to  the  cellular  substance  of  the  spinal  marrow,  and  then  sent  forward  by  some  nerv- 
ous force  which  has  been  stored  up  in  the  spinal  marrow  for  this  purpose.  Impression'" 
would  be  returned  from  the  lower  extremities  to  the  brain  in  the  same  way. 


94 


willson's  riFTn  keadek. 


Pakt  lu. 


^•^•*  3.  It  is  one  of  the  great  discoveries  of  physiol- 

ogy that  the  anterior  root  of  each  pair  contains 
only  nerves  of  motion,  and  the  jjosterior  root  only 
nerves  of  sensation,  and  that  the  former,  therefore, 
carry  impressions  or  commands  from  the  spinal 
marrow,  and  the  latter  bring  impressions  to  it.f 
But  what  is  peculiar  to  some  of  these  nerves  is, 
that  when  they  run  to  the  heart,  lungs,  etc.,  they 
act  independently  of  the  brain.  Thus,  -when  the 
right  ventricle  of  the  heart  is  filled  with  the  dark 
impure  venous  blood,  the  nerves  of  sensation  which 
run  to  the  heart  convey  a  notice  of  the  fact  to  the 
gray  substance  of  the  sj^inal  marrow ;  this  gray 
substance,  which  seems  to  have  a  power  in  itself 
independent  of  the  brain,  responds  to  this  notice, 
and  sends  back  a  message  to  the  heart  by  the  motor  nerves, 
directing  the  muscles  of  the  right  ventricle  to  contract,  and 
force  the  blood  into  the  lungs,  that  it  may  be  purified  there. 
It  is  the  same  with  all  the  other  involuntary  muscles — with 
those  of  the  lungs  and  the  stomach ;  they  are  put  in  motion . 
at  the  proper  time,  and  in  the  right  manner,  through  the  me- 
dium of  nerves  over  which,  ordinarily,  the  will  has  no  controL 
4.  The  exceeding  wisdom  of  an  arrangement  by  which  the 
functions  of  the  heart  and  lungs  are  continued  in  unceasing 
operation,  without  the  necessity  of  mental  control,  is  so  ob- 
vious that  we  need  not  dwell  upon  it.  The  nervous  power 
that  controls  them  seems  to  be  stored  up  in  the  gray  cellular 
substance  of  the  spinal  marrow,  just  as  the  power  that  moves 
the  wheels  and  hands  of  a  watch  is  stored  up  in  the  coil  of 
the  main-spring.  In  winding  up  the  watch  Ave  use  a  certain 
amount  of /orce,  and  this  force  we  transmit  to  the  main- 
spring, where  it  remains  coiled  up,  to  be  given  off  as  needed 
in  moving  the  wheels  and  hands  of  the  watch.  So,  when  this 
infinitely  more  perfect  machine  of  the  muscles  of  involuntary 
motion,  made  by  the  Great  Architect,  is  kept  properly  wound 
up  by  a  due  supply  of  appropriate  nourishment  and  pure  air, 
and  by  a  due  observance  of  all  the  other  conditions  of  healthy 
action,  it  continues  in  motion  until  the  power  stored  up  in  it 

*  Tliia  irt  a  side  view  of  the  left  side  of  tho  Hpinnl  cord. 

t  Fig.  7  hIiows  a  portion  of  the  spinal  cord  Burronnded  hy  its  onvelopea,  and  showing 
tho  origin  of  the  anterior  and  posterior  roots.  Thus,  at  1, 1  are  shown  the  posterior  roots 
of  the  Bpinal  nerves,  and  2,  2,  tlie  anterior  roots  of  the  fame  nerves;  nt  3,  4,  and  below 
theui,  tlie  anterior  and  posterior  roots  are  rut.  In  the  upper  vwrtion  of  tlie  cnjrravinR  the 
h1»o:i11i  or  eaveloi)e  of  tlie  spituil  cord  is  preserveil ;  and  at  (>  are  i^liown  the  two  roots 
united,  and  i)ri)jectinR  from  tho  sheath  ;  at  7  is  shown"  a  vertical  seel  ion  of  the  two  ro-its 
cut  close  to  tho  sheath,  aud  showing  the  vertical  line  which  divides  one  root  from  tha 
other. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND    HEALTH.  95 

has  been  exhausted.  It  has  been  left  to  us  to  avail  ourselves 
of  the  proper  means  of  continuuag  for  a  while  a  supply  of  tliis 
force,  although  we  can  not  originate  it ;  and  judicious  care 
will  enable  us  for  a  long  time  to  keep  the  machine  of  life  in 
motion,  although  it  will  finally  wear  out. 

5.  We  have  said  that  ordinarily  the  will  has  no  control 
over  the  nerves  connected  with  the  involuntary  muscles — re- 
ceiving no  sensations  from  them,  and  conveying  no  messages 
to  them.  But  Infinite  Wisdom,  which  plans  all  things  well, 
has  made  some  exceptions  here.  Ordinarily  the  action  of  the 
lungs  in  respiration  is  wholly  unnoticed  by  the  mind;  but 
when  there  is  embarrassment  in  the  lungs,  occasioned,  for  ex- 
ample, by  the  presence  of  some  irritating  substance,  or  by  dis- 
ease, the  quiet  process  carried  on  by  the  agency  of  the  spinal 
marrow  alone  is  not  adequate  to  meet  the  exigency.  The  act 
of  breathing  is  now  accompanied  with  positive  sensations 
which  the  brain  takes  notice  of,  that  the  individual  may,  if 
possible,  provide  a  remedy.  By  a  mental  effort  the  will  can 
quicken  the  action  of  the  lungs,  if  necessary.  Not  so,  how- 
ever, with  the  movements  of  the  stomach  in  digestion ;  no  ef- 
fort of  the  will  can  quicken  or  retard  the  action  of  this  muscle. 
The  will  can  not  directly  influence  the  motions  of  the  heart, 
though  it  can  do  it  indirectly  by  so  directing  the  thoughts  as 
to  awaken  emotions  calculated  to  produce  this  effect. 

6.  .Thus  it  has  been  seen,  in  the  mysteries  of  the  nervous 
system,  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  nerves  of  common  sensa- 
tion, one  conveying  impressions  to  the  brain,  and  the  other 
kind  transmitting  impressions  that  are  unnoticed  by  the  mind 
to  other  centres  of -nervous  power  and  influence.  It  has  been 
seen,  also,  that  there  are,  corresponding  to  these,  two  diflTerent 
kinds  of  nerves  of  motion,  one  acting  under  mental  control, 
and  the  other  not.  Still  another  important  principle  of  nerv- 
ous influence  we  have  to  notice  in  this  connection,  and  that 
is,  that  there  are  different  nerves  for  diff*erent  kinds  of  sensa- 
tion. The  nerves  iK feeling  are  spread  all  over  and  through- 
out the  body ;  but,  in  addition  to  these,  there  are  nerves  of 
hearing^  seei?ig,  smelling,  and  tasting,  each  entirely  different 
in  its  functions  from  all  the  others. 

^  V.  Thus  the  nerves  of  hearing  convey  to  the  mind  impres- 
sions that  we  call  sound ;  the  optic  nerve  transmits  impres- 
sions of  another  kind,  and  the  nerves  of  smelling  and  tasting 
impressions  of  still  different  kinds.  Each  kind  has  its  own 
duty  to  perform,  and  it  can  perform  no  other.  Thus  the  optic 
nerve,  which  is  only  subject  to  the  influence  of  light,  can  con- 


96  WILLSOn's  fifth  BEADEB.  Part  hi. 

vey  no  impression  of  hearing,  nor  of  smelling,  nor  of  tasting ; 
nor  can  it  convey  any  impression  of  pain.  If  the  eye  be  in- 
jured, a  nerve  of  ordinary  sensation  is  required  to  convey  the 
intelligence  to  the  mind.  So  in  the  nose ;  the  nerve  that  takes 
notice  of  odors  is  a  different  one  from  that  by  which  irritation 
on  the  same  membrane  is  felt.  The  snuff-taker  smells  the 
snuff  with  one  nerve,  and /ee/s  its  tingling  with  another. 

8.  Thus  we  have  briefly  explained  the  leading  parts  and 
principles  of  action  of  the  Nervous  System.  In  one  part  of 
this  system  we  have  found  one  set  of  nerves — the  nerves 
of  feeling^  as  they  are  called,  whose  oflice  is  to  convey  to  the 
mind  impressions  of  ordinary  sensation  from  the  surrounding 
world ;  and  a  still  different  set,  called  nerves  of  motion^  to 
convey  the  commands  of  the  mind  to  the  numerous  voluntary 
muscles.  In  another  part  of  this  system  we  have  also  found 
two  sets  of  nerves,  but  difterent  from  the  former,  running 
to  and  from  the  involuntary  muscles,  and 'regulating  their  mo- 
tions. And  we  have  also  found  still  different  nerves,  some- 
times called  nerves  of  special  sense,  conveying  to  the  mind 
those  impressions  which  give  us  a  knowledge  of  the  objects 
of  taste  and  of  sounds,  of  shades  and  colors,  and  of  odors. 
Some  mysterious  power  presides  over  all  of  them,  and  keeps 
them  in  harmonious  action,  until  accident,  or  disease,  or  age 
seriously  mars  the  beautiful  mechanism,  and  then  we  die. 
No,  not  we!  It  is  only  the  body — the  machine  that  is 
broken  or  that  is  worn  out,  while  we,  the  spirit-mind,  shall 
exist  forever. 


LESSON   V. — SPIBIT,  THE   MOTIVE   POWEB    OF   THE   BODY. 

1.  A  machine  is  a  combination  of  parts  composed  of  mate- 
rial substances,  solid  or  fluid,  or  both,  as  tlie  case  may  be  ;  it 
possesses  not  its  own  principle  of  motioi:yj  it  can  not  urge  its 
own  levers,^  or  stretch  its  own  cords,  or  turn  its  own  wheels, 
or  put  its  own  fluids  into  circulation.  The  efiicient  cause  of 
its  motion,  which  is  altogether  distinct  from  the  machine  it- 
self, is  called  the  prime  mover. 

2.  The  point  on  which  I  desire  now  to  fix  your  attention  is, 
that  this  prime  mover  is  altogether  distinct  from  the  machine, 
and  independent  of  it ;  that  it  possesses,  or  at  least  may  pos- 
sess, no  property  in  common  with  it;  and  that  its  existence 
or  non-existence  is  not  decided  by  the  existence  or  non-exist- 
ence of  the  machine. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND   HEALTH.  91 

3.  The  macbine  may  be  broken,  destroyed,  worn  by  age,  or 
otherwise  disabled,  and  yet  the  prime  mover  may  still  retain 
its  original  energy.  Thus  a  steam-engine  is  moved  by  fire,  a 
mill  by  wind  or  water ;  the  steam-engine  may  be  worn  out, 
and  the  mill  be  broken  by  accident ;  and  yet  the  fire,  and  the 
wind,  and  the  water  will  still  preserve  their  powers. 

4.  These  observations,  which  correctly  describe  a  machine, 
may  with  propriety  be  applied  to  the  human  body.  This  body 
is  also  a  combination  of  parts,  composed  of  material  substances, 
solid  and  fluid,  having  certain  definite  forms  and  arrangements, 
possessing  certain  capabilities  of  motion  and  force,  destined 
and  admirably  adapted  to  obey  the  dictation  of  its  prime 
m9ver,  the  living  principle,  the  immaterial  spirit. 

5.  So  long  as  it  pleases  the  Great  Engineer  who  construct- 
ed this  body  to  permit  its  connection  with  that  intellectual 
spirit,  so  long  will  it  obey  the  impulses  which  it  receives ;  nor 
does  the  decay  in  this  bodily  machine  infer  any  corresponding 
decay  of  the  moving  spirit  any  more  than  the  wear  and  tear 
of  a  steam-engine  proves  the  destruction  of  the  principle  of 
heat  which  gives  it  motion. 

6.  Neither  are  we  to  infer,  because  this  bodily  machine;  in 
its  obedience  to  the  vital  spirit,  acts  mechanically,  and  is  adapt- 
ed to  all  the  ordinary  properties  and  laws  of  matter,  that 
therefore  the  spirit  which  moves  it  partakes  of  the  nature  of 
matter,  or  is  answerable  to  its  laws,  any  more  than  we  should 
infer  that  the  levers,  wheels,  pumps,  chains,  cords,  and  valves 
of  a  steam-engine  are  regulated  by  the  laws  which  govern 
heat.  On  the  contrary,  I  submit  it  to  the  candor  of  the  most 
skepticaP  materialist^  whether  the  whole  tendency  of  anaF- 
ogy*  does  not  directly  overthrow  the  hypoth'esis*  that  the 
principle  of  life  is  organic.^ 

7.  We  are  assured  in  the  Scriptures  that  in  the  first  instance 
"  God  formed  man  of  the  dust  of  the  ground ;"  that  is  to  say, 
He  created  that  curious  and  beautiful  machine,  the  organized 
human  body ;  but  that  body  was  still  an  inert"^  structure,  with- 
out the  principle  of  self-motion.  A  more  noble  work  remain- 
ed to  be  performed ;  the  immaterial  spirit,  the  divine  essence, 
the  prime  mover  of  this  machine,  was  to  be  applied ;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, we  learn  that  God  "  breathed  into  his  nostrils  the 
breath  of  life ;"  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  "  man  became  a 
living  soul." — ^Laedner. 

8.  "  Is,  then,  the  being  who  such  rule  maintains 

Naught  but  a  bunch  of  fibres,  bones,  and  veins'  ? 


98 


willson's  fifth  eeadeb. 


Part  III. 


Is  all  that  acts,  contrives,  obeys,  commands, 
Naught  but  the  fingers  of  two  feeble  hands'  ? 
Hands  that,  a  few  uncertain  summers  o'er, 
Moulder  in  kindred  dust,  and  move  no  more'  ? 

9.  "No^ :~  powers  sublimer  far  that  frame  inspire. 

And  warm  with  energy  of  nobler  fire. 
And  teach  mankind  to  pant  for  loftier  joys. 
Where  death  invades  not,  nor  disease  annoys ; 
But  transports  i)ure,  immortal,  unconfined. 
Fill  all  the  vast  capacity  of  mind." 


1  Lk'-veb,  or  Lev'-ee.  See  Fourth  Reader, 
p.  312. 

'  Skep'-ti€-al,  doubting. 

3  Ma-te'-bi-al-I8t,  one  who  denies  any  spir- 
itual existence  apart  from  matter. 

*  A-nal'-o-6y,  remote  likeness  or  similarity 
between  difEereut  objects. 


5  HS'-Porn'-K-sis,  a  suppoeition. 

6  Oh-gan'-ic.  Onjanic  bodies  are  such  as 
possess  organs,  on  the  action  of  which  de- 
pend their  growth  and  perfection. 

7  In-ebt',  without  power  to  move. 


LES.  VI. — VAEioirs  phenomena  of  the  neevous  system. 

(Adapted  from  Hooker  and  other  writers.) 

I.  WHAT  IS  NECESSARY  TO  SENSATION  Aim  VOLUNTARY 
MOTION. 

1.  TrfE  nerves,  branching  out  to  all  parts  of  the  body,  do 
not  terminate  in  sharp  points,  but  usually  in  loops,  where  im- 
pressions from  external  things  are  first  received;  and  it  is 
found  that  if  the  organ  on  wHch  the  nerve  is  thus  expanded 
is  seriously  injured,  the  nerve  will  not  receive  the  impression. 
If  the  eye  be  so  injured  in  its  textures^  that  the  impression  of 
light  can  not  be  made  on  the  optic  nerve,  there  can  be  no  vis- 
ion. So,  too,  of  the  other  senses.  Taste  and  smell  are  often 
impaired,  sometimes  even  destroyed  for  a  time,  by  an  in- 
flammation of  the  mucous  membrane,^  on  which  the  nerves 
devoted  to  these  senses  are  expanded.  This  is  sometimes  the 
case  in  a  common  cold.  The  trunk  of  a  nerve  must  also  be  in 
a  proper  condition.  If  the  nerve  of  vision  be  pressed  upon 
by  a  tumor,3  no  impression  will  be  transmitted  from  the  im- 
ages formed  in  the  eye.  So,  too,  if  the  nerve  going  to  any 
part  of  the  body  be  cut  off",  there  can  be  no  transmission  of 
impressions  to  the  brain  from  that  part. 

2.  Again,  it  is  necessary  to  sensation  that  the  brain  should 
be  in  a  state  to  communicate  the  impression  to  the  mind.  If 
the  brain  be  pressed  upon  strongly  by  a  depression  of  the 
skull  from  violence,  or  by  effusion^  of  blood  by  the  rupture* 
of  an  artery,  as  sometimes  occurs  in  apoplexy,  there  can  be 
no  sensation.     Excitement  of  mind,  too,  sometimes  prevents 


2d  DiV.  OF.  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY    AND   HEALTH.  99 

the  occurrence  of  sensation  by  its  action  upon  the  connection 
between  the  mind  and  the  brain.  The  pain  of  a  wound  re- 
ceived in  battle  is  often  unfelt  until  the  excitement  of  the  bat- 
tle is  over,  and  the  aching  of  a  tooth  is  often  stopped  by  the 
excitement  consequent  upon  going  to  the  dentist  to  have  it 
extracted. 

3.  In  these  cases  the  cause  of  the  pain  is  acting  all  the 
time  upon  the  nervous  extremity,  the  trunk  of  the  nerve  is 
capable  of  transmitting  the  impression,  and  the  brain  is  doubt- 
less capable  of  receiving  it,  but  the  mind  is  so  intensely  occu- 
pied with  other  things  that  it  takes  no  notice  of  the  messages 
sent  up  from  the  nerves.  Thus  the  mind  may  at  times  rise 
superior  to  physical  suffering,  and  withdraw  itself,  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  from  bodily  influences.  We  witness  this  in  the 
exultation  with  which  the  savage  at  the  stake  sings  his  death- 
songs,  and  the  Christian  heroism^  with  which  martyrs  have 
met  death  amid  the  direst  tortures  of  the  body.  It  is  on 
the  same  principle  that  the  man  of  stubborn  and  resolute  will 
is  often  enabled  to  resist  pain,  while  the  feeble-minded  and 
the  irresolute  are  overcome  by  it. 

II.  NERVOUS  PARALYSIS. 

1.  Sometimes  the  nerves  of  expression  which  extend  over 
the  face  are  paralyzed''  on  one  side  only.  The  result  is,  that 
while  the  individual  can  masticate^  equally  well  on  both  sides, 
he  can  laugh,  and  cry,  and  frown  only  on  one  side,  and  he  can 
not  close  the  eye  on  the  side  affected.  Thus,  if  the  nerve  of 
expression  covering  the  left  side  of  the  face  be  paralyzed,  the 
left  eye  can  not  be  closed  by  any  effort,  and  the  Left  side  of 
the  face  will  be  wholly  devoid  of  expression.  This  nerve  of 
expression  is  often  paralyzed  by  itself,  the  other  nerves  in  the 
neighborhood,  both  nerves  of  sensation  and  of  motion,  being 
entirely  unaffected.  This  nerve  has  been  called  the  respi- 
ratory nerve  of  the  face,  because  it  controls  motions  which  are 
connected  with  the  movements  of  respiration.^ 

2.  If  we  observe  how  the  various  passions  and  emotions 
are  expressed,  we  shall  see  that  there  is  a  natural  association 
between  the  muscles  of  the  face  and  those  of  the  chest  in  this 
expression.  This  is  very  obvious  in  laughing  and  in  v.  eep- 
ing.  But  this  association  can  be  effected  only  through  nerv- 
ous connections,  and  these  connections  in  this  case  are  very 
extensive  and  intimate.  When  the  nerve  of  expression,  or 
the  facial  respiratory  nerve,  is  paralyzed,  all  the  motions  of 
the  face  connected  with  the  respiration  are  absent.     Though 


100  willson's  fifth  eeader.  PaetIIL 

the  individual  may  sob  in  weeping,  or  send  forth  the  rapid 
and  excessive  expirations  of  laughter,  yet  the  face  on  the  side 
where  the  nerve  is  paralyzed  will  be  perfectly  quiescent.^**  So, 
too,  those  movements  of  the  nostrils  which  are  sometimes  used 
in  expression  can  not  be  performed.  Sneezing  can  not  be 
done  on  the  affected  side,  nor  can  the  individual  whistle,  be- 
cause a  branch  of  this  nerve  goes  to  the  muscles  at  the  corner 
of  the  mouth,  which  are  therefore  disabled.  Sir  Charles  Bell, 
in  cutting  a  tumor  from  before  the  ear  of  a  coachman,  divided 
this  branch  of  the  nerve.  Shortly  after,  the  man  thanked  him 
for  curing  him  of  a  formidable  disease,  but  complained  that 
he  could  no  longer  whistle  to  his  horses. 

3.  Another  singular  case  of  paralysis  narrated  by  Sir  Charles 
Bell  is  that  of  a  mother  who  was  seized  with  a  paralysis,  in 
which  there  was  a  loss  of  muscular  power  on  one  side,  and  a 
loss  of  sensibility  on  the  other.  She  could  hold  her  child  with 
the  arm  of  the  side  which  retained  its  power  of  motion,  but 
had  lost  its  sensibility.  But  she  could  do  it  only  when  she 
was  looking  at  it.  She  could  not  feel  her  child  on  the  arm, 
and  therefore,  when  her  attention  was  drawn  to  any  thing 
else,  and  she  ceased  to  have  her  eyes  fixed* on  the  child,  the 
muscles,  having  no  overseer,  as  we  may  say,  to  keep  them  at 
work,  were  relaxed  at  once,  and  the  child  would  fall  from  her 
arm. 

m.  NO  FEELING  IN  THE  NERVES  OF  MOTION,  IN  THE 
BRAIN,  OR  IN  THE  HEART. 

1.  It  was  formerly  supposed  that  a  nerve  must,  of  course, 
have  an  exquisite^^  sensibility.^^  B^t  there  is  no  sensibility 
in  nerves  devoted  to  motion,  as  we  have  already  seen.  Nei- 
ther is  there  any  in  the  brain  itself,  but  only  in  its  envelop- 
ing membranes.  Portions  of  the  brain  may  be  cut  oif  with- 
out producing  any  pain.  The  heart,  too,  is  insensible  to  touch. 
A  case  proving  this  fell  under  the  observation  of  Harvey,  the 
discoverer  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood.  A  young  noble- 
man, from  an  injury  received  in  a  fall,  had  a  large  abscess^^ 
on  the  chest,  which  occasioned  such  a  destruction  of  the  parts 
as  to  leave  the  lungs  and  heart  exposed.  Charles  the  First, 
on  hearing  of  the  case,  desired  Harvey  to  see  it. 

2.  "When,"  says  Harvey,  "I  had  paid  my  respects  to  this 
young  nobleman,  and  conveyed  to  him  the  king's  request,  he 
made  no  concealment,  but  exposed  the  left  side  of  his  breast, 
when  I  saw  a  cavity  into  which  I  could  introduce  my  fingers 
and  thumb.     Astonished  with  the  novelty,  again  and  again 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND    HEALTH.  101 

I  explored  the  wound ;  and  first,  marveling  at  the  extraor- 
dinary nature  of  the  case,  I  set  about  the  examination  of  the 
heart.  Taking  it  in  one  hand,  and  placing  my  finger  on  the 
wrist,  I  satisfied  myself  that  it  was  indeed  the  heart  which 
I  grasped.  I  then  brought  him  to  the  king,  that  he  might 
behold  and  touch  so  extraordinary  a  thing,  and  that  he  might 
perceive,  as  I  did,  that,  unless  when  we  'touched  the  outer 
skin,  or  when  he  saw  our  fingers  in  the  cavity,  this  young 
gentleman  knew  not  that  we  touched  his  heart !" 

3.  This  absence  of  sensibility  in  the  heart  is  not  because  it 
is  not  well  endowed  with  nerves.  It  is  well  endowed,  not 
with  the  nerves  of  ordinary  sensation,  but  with  those  which 
are  devoted  to  another  purpose.  They  are  nerves  of  sym- 
pathy, which  notify  the  condition  of  the  heart  to  the  seats 
of  involuntary  motion  in  the  spinal  marrow,  and  which  also 
establish  a  connection  with  every  part  of  the  body,  making 
the  heart  to  be  so  easily  afiected  by  motion,  by  disease,  and 
by  every  passing  emotion  in  the  mind. 

IV.  THE  REUNION  AND  HEALING  OF  SEVERED  NERVES. 

1.  There  are  some  wonderful  facts  in  regard  to  the  reunion 
and  healing  of  severed  nerves.  It  has  been  seen  that  if  a 
nerve  trunk  be  divided,  all  communication  between  the  part 
which  it  supplies  with  branches  and  the  brain  is  cut  ofi*. 
But  the  two  cut  ends  of  the  trunk  can  grow  together,  and 
the  communication  can  thus  be  more  or  less  restored.  This 
must  appear  to  us  passing  wonderful  when  we  consider  that 
each  nerve  trunk  is  made  up  of  a  great  number  of  separate 
fibres,  each  one  of  which  goes  from  its  origin  in  the  nervous 
centre  to  its  destination  by  itself  For  these  nerves  to  heal 
without  causing  confusion,  it  is  essentially  necessary  that  each 
little  fibre  should  unite,  at  its  cut  end,  with  its  corresponding 
end,  and  not  with  the  end  of  some  other  fibre.  For  example, 
if  the  nerves  distributed  to  the  hand  were  cut,  it  would  not 
do  to  have  the  fibres  which  go  to  the  thumb  unite  with  those 
which  go  to  a  finger. 

2.  The  difficulty  of  accurate  union  would  seem  to  us  to  be 
still  farther  increased  by  the  fact  that,  in  the  same  bundle  of 
nerve  fibres,  the  difierent  kinds,  those  of  motion  and  those  of 
sensation,  are  bound  up  together,  and  we  know  that  it  would 
not  do  for  a  nerve  of  motion  to  unite  with  a  nerve  of  sensa- 
tion. Yet  we  learn,  by  repeated  experiments,  that  the  most 
accurate  union  of  severed  nerves  is  often  effected,  each  mi- 
nute fibre,  in  whatever  position  it  may  be  placed,  apparently 


102  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  ni. 

seeking  out  and  uniting  with  its  severed  part,  so  that  event- 
ually the  communication  of  impressions  is  as  perfect  as  be- 
fore. 

3.  But  a  still  more  wonderful  fact  is  exhibited  in  the  union 
of  parts  which  did  not  originally  belong  together,  as,  for  ex- 
ample, when  a  piece  of  skin  is  dissected  from  the  forehead, 
and  is  twisted  do\^n  so  as  to  be  made  to  grow  on  to  the  nose, 
to  supply  a  deficiency  there.  Here  entirely  new  relations  are 
established  between  the  nerves  of  the  divided  parts,  and,  as 
we  should  expect,  there  is  confusion  in  the  sensations.  The 
patient  at  first,  whenever  the  new  part  of  the  nose  is  touch- 
ed, refers  the  sensation  to  the  forehead.  But  this  confusion 
of  the  sensations  is  after  a  while  removed.  And  it  is  curious 
to  observe,  that  while  the  old  nervous  connections  are  break- 
ing up,  and  the  new  ones  becoming  established,  there  is  an 
interval  of  partial,  sometimes  entire  insensibility  in  the  part. 
How  these  new  relations  can  be  established  consistently  with 
the  known  arrangement  of  the  fibres  in  the  nerve  bundles  is 
a  mystery.  Physiologists  do  not  attempt  to  explain  it ;  they 
merely  attribute  all  such  processes  to  what  they  call  the 
"  Healing  Power  of  Nature." 


1  Tkxt'-ures,  different  parts  or  layera,  each 
likened  to  a  ^oeb  that  is  woven. 

2  Mtj'-roi's  Mkm'-branb,  a  thin  and  slimy 
flexil,l(i  akin. 

3  TO'-MOK,  a  swelling. 

♦  EF-Pu'-iBiON,  a  pouring  out  from  the  proper 


Kf  pt'-Cre,  a  breaking. 

Ili^B'-o-isM,  the  spirit  and  conduct  of 

hero;  fortitude. 


">  PAE'-A-LfzEB,  affected  with  the  palsy;  be- 
numbed. 

8  Mab'-ti-cate,  chew ;  grind  with  the  teeth. 

9  Res-pi-ba'-tion,  the  act  of  breathing. 
1"  QuT-Es'-cENT,  in  a  state  of  repoi»e. 

11  ex-'qui-site,  peculiarly  delicate;  keenly 
felt.  [feeling. 

12  Sen-si-bTtZ-i-ty,  acuteness  or  delicacy  of 

13  ab'-soe8s,  a  swelling  containing  a  whitish 
matter  called  pus. 


LES.  Vn. INTEMPERANCE,  THE  PREVIE  MINISTER  OF  DEATH. 

1.  Death,  the  king  of  terrors,  was  determined  to  choose  a 
prime  minister  ;^  and  his  pale  courtiers^,  the  ghastly^  train  of 
diseases,  were  all  summoned  to  attend,  when  each  preferred* 
his  claim  to  the  honor  of  this  illustrious  office.  Fever  urged 
the  numbers  he  destroyed ;  cold  Palsy  set  forth  his  preten- 
sions by  shaking  all  his  limbs ;  and  Dropsy,  by  his  swelled, 
unwieldy  carcass ;  Gout  hobbled  up,  and  alleged  his  great 
power  in  racking  every  joint ;  and  Asthma's  inability  to  speak 
was  a  strong  though  silent  argument  in  favor  of  his  claim. 
Colic  and  Rheumatism  pleaded  their  violence;  Plague  his 
rapid  progress  in  destruction ;  and  Consumption,  though  slow, 
insisted  that  he  was  sure. 

2.  In  the  midst  of  this  contention,  the  court  was  disturbed 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND   HEALTH. 


103 


by  the  noise  of  music,  dancing,  feasting,  and  revelry ,5  when 
immediately  entered  a  lady,  witfe  a  confident  air  and  a  flushed 
countenance,  attended  by  a  troop  of  cooks  and  bacchanals  :^ 
her  name  was  Intemperance.  She  waved  her  hand,  and  thus 
addressed  the  crowd  of  diseases :  "  Give  way,  ye  sickly  band 
of  pretenders,  nor  dare  to  vie  with  my  superior  merits  in  the 
service  of  this  great  monarch.  Am  not  I  your  parent  ?  Do 
ye  not  derive  the  power  of  shortening  human  life  almost 
wholly  from  me  ?  Who,  then,  so  fit  as  myself  for  this  im- 
portant office  ?"  The  grisly  monarch  grinned  a  smile  of  ap- 
probation, placed  her  at  his  right  hand,  and  she  immediately 
became  his  principal  favorite  and  prime  minister. — Anony- 
mous. 


1  Prime  Min'-is-tee,  a  chief  officer  in  civil 

affairs, 
s  Cocbt'-ieb,  an  attendant  who  flatters  to 

please. 
3  GtHast'-ly,  death-like  ;  very  pale ;  hideous, 


*  Pke-fer'ked,  put  forward ;  urged. 

5  Rev'-el-ey,  carousing  with   noisy  merri- 
ment. 

6  Bac'-cha-nals,   those  who    indulge    in 
drunken  revels. 


LESSON  VIII. — "look  not  upon  the  wine." 

1.  Look  not  upon  the  wine  when  it 

Is  red  within  the  cup  ! 
Stay  not  for  pleasure  when  she  fills 
^  Her  tempting  beaker^  up ! 

Though  clear  its  depths,  and  rich  its  glow, 
A  spelP  of  madness  lurks  below. 

2.  They  say  'tis  pleasant  on  the  lip, 

And  merry  on  the  brain  ; 
They  say  it  stirs  the  sluggish^  blood, 

And  dulls  the  tooth  of  pain. 
Ay — but  within  its  glowing  deeps 
A  stinging  serpent,  unseen,  sleeps. 

3.  Its  rosy  lights  will  turn  to  fire, 

Its  coolness  change  to  thirst ; 
And,  by  its  mirth,  within  the  brain 

A  sleepless  worm  is  nursed. 
There's  not  a  bubble  at  the  brim 
That  does  not  carry  food  for  him. 

4.  Then  dash  the  brimming*  cup  aside, 

And  spill  its  purple  wine ; 
Take  not  its  madness  to  thy  lip — 

Let  not  its  curse  be  thine. 
'Tis  red  and  rich — but  grief  and  woe 
Are  in  those  rosy  depths  below. — Willis. 

»  Beak'-eb,  a  drinking-cup  or  glass.  p  Sltjo'-gish,  having  little  motion. 

»  Spell,  a  charm  consisting  of  words  of  hid-  *  BeIm'-minq,  full  to  the  very  brim. 
den  power.  I 


104 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   BEADKK. 


Part  III. 


LESSON  IX. — THE  WATEB-DEINKEE. 

1.  Oh,  water  for  me!  bright  water  for  me, 
And  wine  for  the  tremulous  debauchee.* 
Water  cooleth  the  brow,  and  cooleth  the  brain, 
And  maketh  the  faint  one  strong  again  ; 

It  comes  o'er  the  sense  like  a  breeze  from  the  sea. 

All  freshness,  like  infant  purity ; 

Oh,  water,  bright  water,  for  me,  for  me ! 

Give  wine,  give  wine,  to  the  debauchee!* 

2.  Fill  to  the  brim !  fill,  fill  to  the  brim ; 
Let  the  flowing  crystaP  kiss  the  rim ! 
For  my  hand  is  steady,  my  eye  is  true. 

For  I,  like  the  flowers,  drink  nothing  but  dew. 

Oh,  water,  bright  water's  a  mine  of  wealth. 

And  the  ores  which  it  yieldeth  are  vigor  and  health. 

So  water,  pure  water,  for  me,  for  me ! 

And  wine  for  the  tremulous  debauchee ! 

3.  Fill  again  to  the  brim,  again  to  the  brim ! 
For  water  strengtheneth  life  and  limb. 
To  the  days  of  the  aged  it  addeth  length, 

To  the  might  of  the  strong  it  addeth  strength  ; 

It  freshens  the  heart,  it  brightens  the  sight, 

'Tis  like  quaffing  a  goblet  of  morning  light ! 

So,  water,  I  will  drink  nothing  but  thee, 

Thou  parent  of  health  and  energy !  • 

4.  When  over  the  hills,  like  a  gladsome  bride, 
Morning  walks  forth  in  her  beauty's  pride, 
And,  leading  a  band  of  laughing  hours, 
Brushes  the  dew  from  the  nodding  flowers, 
Oh !  cheerily  then  my  voice  is  heard 
Mingling  with  that  of  the  soaring  bird, 
Who  flingeth  abroad  his  matin'  loud. 

As  he  freshens  his  wing  in  the  cold  gray  cloud. 

6.  But  when  evening  has  quitted  her  sheltering  yew, 
Drowsily  flying,  and  weaving  anew 
Her  dusky  meshes  o'er  land  and  sea, 
How  gently,  O  sleep,  fall  thy  poppies*  on  me  ! 
For  I  drink  water,  pure,  cold,  and  bright, 
And  my  dreams  are  of  Heaven  the  livelong*  night* 
So  hurra  for  thee,  water !  hun-a !  hurra ! 
Thou  art  silver  and  gold,  thou  art  ribbon  and  star : 
Hurra  for  bright  water !  hurra !  hurra ! 

E.  Johnson. 


1  Dnn-Arr-onEB'  (dcl-o-ahec')^  a  profligate ;  a 

drunkard, 
a  CRYs'-TAr,,  horo  used  for  water^  which  is 

clear  aa  cr>'stal. 


'  Mat'-fn,  morning  song.  ^ 

♦  I*fip'-riK8,  opium,  obtained  from  the  j^p- 
py.  lulls  Jo  slnep. 

*  LIvr'-lonq,  long  in  paasing. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN  PHYSIOLOGY   AND   HEALTH.  105 


LESSON"   X. — HOW  THE   MIND   SPEAKS  THROUGH  THE 
NEEVES   AND   MUSCLES. 

(Adapted  chiefly  from  Sir  Cliarles  Bell.) 

*' There's  a  language  that's  vnute,  there's  a  silence  that  speaks; 
There  is  something  that  can  not  be  told ; 
There  are  words  that  can  only  be  read  on  the  cheeks ; 
And  thoughts — but  the  eye  can  unfold." 

1.  There  is  quite  as  much  truth  as  poetry  in  the  above 
lines — and,  indeed,  poets  are  often  the  most  faithful  interpret- 
ers of  nature.  Spoken  and  written  language  are  not  the  only 
methods  by  which  mind  communicates  with  mind  ;  and  it  will 
be  found,  on  examination,  that  "  the  language  that's  mute," 
and  that  is  read  only  in  the  "  moving  play  of  the  muscles," 
forms  the  greater  portion  of  the  language  of  daily  life. 

2.  Thoughts  and  feelings  are  expressed  only  by  muscular 
motion  as  controlled  by  the  nerves.  Even  the  voice  in  speak- 
ing,, and  the  hand  in  writing,  merely  translate  the  language 
of  the  muscles  into  conventionaP  feigns;  but  it  is  more  espe- 
cially of  the  mute  language  of  the  features,  and  of  bodily  mo- 
tions, that  we  are  now  to  speak.  As  w^e  watch  an  animated 
speaker,  we  observe  that  not  only  are  the  muscles  of  the  fore- 
head, the  eyebrows,  the  eyes,  the  cheeks,  the  nose,  and  the 
mouth  in  almost  constant  action,  but  the  head  is  nodded  or 
shaken,  the  shoulder  is  shrugged,  the  foot  is  stamped,  the 
body  variously  inclined,  and,  above  all,  the  hand  executes  a 
great  variety  of  motions,  and  all  to  give  force  to  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  which  the  mouth  utters. 

3.  Various  muscles  of  the  human  features  are  also  used  to 
express  thought  or  passion  without  any  connection  with  the 
voice.  So,  also,  the  feelings  or  emotions  which  are  attributed 
to  the  heart  find  expression  here.  Says  the  Son  of  Sirach, 
"  The  heart  of  a  man  changeth  his  countenance,  whether  for 
good  or  evil."  And  so  also  Shakspeare,  "  I  do  believe  thee  ; 
I  saw  his  heart  in  his  face."  Certain  strong  feelings  of  the 
mind  produce  a  disturbed  condition  of  the  heart ;  thence  the 
impulse  is  sent  to  the  organs  of  breathing,  which  then  give 
us,  in  this  indirect  way,  the  outward  signs  of  the  mental  emo- 
tion. Sir  Charles  Bell  says,  "  The  man  was  wrong  who  found 
fault  with  Nature  for  not  placing  a  window  before  the  heart, 
in  order  to  render  visible  human  thoughts  and  intentions. 
There  is,  in  truth,  provision  made  in  the  countenance  and  out- 
ward bearing  for  such  discoveries."  These  principles  form  a 
rational  basis  for  the  science  of  physiognomv.^ 

E  2 


1 0(3  WILLSON's  fifth   reader.  Fart  HI. 

4.  The  heart  and  the  lungs  are  so  intimately  connected  by 
nerves  that  the  closest  sympathy  exists  between  them ;  nor 
has  the  mind  always  sufficient  control  over  them  to  allay  the 
excitement  which  a  word  or  a  whisper  may  have  occasioned. 
Thus  the  "  feelings  of  the  heart,"  as  they  are  called,  will  ex- 
press themselves  by  outward  signs,  distinct  from  those  which 
the  mind  directly  controls.  We  can  readily  conceive  why  a 
man,  under  the  influence  of  terror,  stands  with  eyes  intently 
lixed  on  the  object  of  his  fears,  the  eyebrows  elevated  to  the 
utmost,  and  the  eye  largely  uncovered ;  and  why  he  moves 
with  hesitating  and  bewildered  steps,  and  glances  his  eye 
wildly  around  liim.  In  all  this,  the  mind  acts  directly  on  the 
outward  organs.  But  observe  this  man  further :  there  is  a 
spasm  on  his  breast;  he  can  not  breathe  freely;  the  chest  is  ele- 
vated, the  muscles  of  his  neck  and  shpulders  are  in  action,  his 
breathing  is  short  and  rapid,  there  is  a  gasping  and  convul- 
sive motion  of  his  lips,  a  tremor  on  his  hollow  cheek,  a  gulp- 
ing and  catching  of  his  throat — and  why  does  his  heart  knock 
at  his  ribs  while  yet  there  is  no  force  of  circulation^  ?~  for 
his  lips  are  ashy  pale. 

6.  Sometimes  the  mind,  by  a  strong  eflbrt,  can  restrain,  to 
some  extent,  the  outward  expressions  of  emotion,  at  least  in 
regard  to  the  general  bearing  of  the  body ;  but  who,  while 
suffering  under  the  influence  of  any  strong  emotion,  can  re- 
tain the  natural  fullness  of  his  features,  or  the  healthful  color 
of  his  cheek,  and  unembarrassed  respiration^  ?  The  murderer 
may  command  his  voice,  and  mask  his  purpose  with  light 
words,  or  carry  an  habitual  sneer  of  contempt  of  all  softer 
passions;  but  his  unnatural  paleness,  and  the  sinking  of  his 
features,  will  betray  that  he  sufiers.  Clarence  says  to  his 
murderer, 

"  IIow  deadly  dost  thon  spcak^  1 
Your  eyea  do  miinace  me :  why  look  you  pale^  ?" 

6.  Thus  the  frame  of  the  body,  though  constituted  for  the 
support  of  the  vital  functions,  becomes  the  instrument  of  ex- 
pression, and  in  the  anatomy  of  the  system  we  find  the  cause. 
We  see  why,  when  the  mind  sufiers,  the  brcatliing  should  be 
agitated,  for  then  the  ordinary  involuntary  motions  of  the  res- 
piratory organs  are  interfered  with  by  a  more  potent^  nerv- 
ous influence  than  ordinary;  we  see  why  the  muscles  of  the 
throat  should  be  aftectcd  with  spasm — why  slight  quivering 
motions  pass  from  time  to  time  over  the  face,  the  lips  and 
cheeks,  and  nostrils ;  why  the  voice  sticks  in  the  throat,  and 
the  paralyzed*  lips  refuse  the  commands  of  the  will ;  and  why 


2d  Div.  OP 


HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND    HEALTH. 


107 


even  the  loalJc  should  often  indicate  the  workings  of  the  mind, 
or  the  general  character  of  the  individual. 

'■'•  You  may  sometimes  trace 
A  feeling  in  each  footstep,  as  disclosed 
By  Sallust  in  his  Catiline,  who,  chased 
By  all  the  demons  of  all  passions,  showed 
Their  work  even  by  the  way  in  which  he  trode." 

1  €!on-vkn'-tion-al,  agreed  upon,  or  arising  3  Po'-tent,  powerful. 

out  of  custom.  I*  Par'-a-l\'zed,  benumbed;  incapable  of  mo- 

2  Phys-i-6g'-no-mt,  the  science  of  discerning     tion. 
the  character  from  the  face.  | 


LESSON   XI. — THE  LANGUAGE   OF  THE   COUNTENANCE. 

(  Continued^ 

(Adapted  chiefly  from  Sir  Charles  Bell.) 

Fig.  8. 


THE  FACIAIi  NEETE. 


Fig.  8  shows  the  Facial  Nei*ve — 
the  nerve  of  expression  of  the  coun- 
tenance. All  tiie  principal  divisions 
and  branches  of  this  nerve,  and  their 
exact  localities,  are  known  to  anato- 
mists and  named  by  them  ;  but  it  is 
not  necessary  to  specify  them  here. 
Each  ner\'e  branch  has  its  appropri- 
ate office  to  perform  in  moving  the 
contiguous  muscles;  and  it  is  only 
when  we  consider  the  vast  number 
of  combinations  that  may  be  made 
of  them  that  we  begin  to  realize  the 
wonderful  versatility  of  this  natural 
language  amtie  human  countenance. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  head  is  another 
facial  nerve,  the  exact  counterpart 
of  the  one  here  represented,  and 
that  the  facial  is  but  one  of  twelve 
pairs  of  cranial  nerves  distributed 
to  the  different  parts  of  the  head. 
Injury  of  the  facial  nerve  produces 
paralysis  of  the  parts  to  which  it  is 
distributed,  rendering  the  muscles  of 
the  face  powerless,  and  the  counte- 
nance therefore  distorted.  So  of  the 
other  cranial  nei-ves;  yet  one  of  a 
pair — as  one  eye,  one  ear,  one  nos- 
'^  tril,  etc — may  be  affected,  and  the 

other  continue  in  healthy  action. 

1.  In  the  preceding  lesson  we  treated,  generally,  of  the  lan- 
guage of  muscular  motion  ;  but  the  various  expressions  of  the 
human  countenance,  in  particular,  are  what  we  would  now  no- 
tice, together  with  the  immediate  causes  which  produce  them. 
Over  each  side  of  the  face  and  each  half  of  the  head  extends, 
what  is  called  the  facial  nerve ;  and  it  is  through  this  and  its 
numerous  and  minute  ramifications^  that  are  produced  those 
movements  of  the  muscles  which  give  to  the  face  its  wonder- 
ful variety  of  expression — the  mute  language  of  thought,  feel- 


108 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH    EEADEE. 


Part  in. 


Fig.  9 Laughter. 


ing,  and  emotion.  What  a  wonderful  net-work  of  nervous 
fibres  is  here  set  apart  for  the  purpose  of  producing  the  only 
universal  language  which  is  known  and  read  of  all  man- 
kiiid! 

2.  It  will  be  interesting  to  know  how  some  of  the  expres- 
sions of  the  countenance  are  pro- 
duced. If  we  will  notice,  we  shall 
observe  that  the  wrinkling  of  the 
muscles  of  the  eyebrow  and  fore- 
head causes  a  frown  to  pass  over 
the  features ;  when  a  smile  occurs, 
it  is  produced  by  the  muscles  which 
raise  the  corners  of  the  mouth  ;  and 
when  sadness  is  expressed,  it  is  by 
the  opposite  action  of  drawing^ 
down  the  corners  of  the  mouth. 
Hence  the  origin  of  the  common 
expression,  "  Down  in  the  mouth." 
In  hearty  laughter,  which  is  repre- 
sented in  the  annexed  engraving,  the  muscles  which  raise  the 
corner  of  the  mouth  act  strongly,  pushing  up  and  wrinkling 
the  cheek,  while  the  eyes  are  nearly  closed  by  the  action  of 
the  circular  muscle  of  the  eyelids.  The  muscles  of  the  throat, 
neck,  and  chest^re  also  agitated,  and  so  violently  that  the 
individual  may  be  said  to  be  actually  "  convulsed"  with  laugh- 
ter. 

3.  In  severe  weeping,  on  the  contrary,  the  muscles  that  draw 

,  down  the  corners  of  the  mouth  act 

strongly,  the  muscles  of  the  eyelids 
contract  with  great  force,  closing 
the  eyes,  and  the  frowning  muscle 
at  the  same  time  wrinkles  the  eye- 
brows. The  cheeks,  drawn  be- 
tween two  adverse  powers,  lose 
their  joyous  elevation,  the  breath- 
^  ing  is  cut  short  by  sobbing,  the  in- 
spiration is  hurried,  and  the   ex- 

L-  piration  is  slow,  with  a  melancholy 

3  ^^iS^iilEji^l^  note.     In  weeping,  the  same  mus- 
cles are  affected  as  in  laughter ;  but 
they  act  difterently,  and  the  expres- 
sion is  as  much  opposed  to  that  of 
laughter  as  the  nature  of  the  emotion  which  produces  it. 

4.  In  unrestrained  rage,  which  is  a  brutal  passion,  the 


I'ig.  lU. — (Jryiug. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND   HEALTH. 


109 


Fig.  11.— Rage. 

by  the  violence  of  passion. 

5. 


whole  frame  trembles,  the  fea- 
tures are  unsteady,  and  the 
whole  visage  is  sometimes  pale, 
sometimes  dark  and  almost  liv- 
id ;2  the  exposed  eyeballs  roll 
and  are  inflamed,  the  forehead 
is  alternately  knit^  and  raised 
in  furrows,  the  nostrils  are  in- 
flated to  the  utmost,  the  lips 
are  swollen,  the  corners  of  the 
mouth  open,  and  the  teeth  are 
so  firmly  closed  that  words 
escape  with  diflSculty.  Tasso, 
in  describing  the  rage  of  Ar- 
gantes,  dwells  with  great  effect 
upon  this  "strangling  of  speech" 


The  pagan  lord,  to  such  affronts  unused, 
Bit  both  his  lips,  wrath's  strangled  orators  ; 
He  would  have  spoke,  but  only  sounds  confused 
Broke  forth,  such  sounds  as  when  a  lion  roars ; 
Or,  as  when  lightning  cleaves  the  stormy  doors 
Of  heaven,  to  rouse  from  its  reluctant  rest 
The  thunder  growling  as  the  tempest  pours  ; 
For  every  word,  which  he  with  pain  express'd, 
Escaped  in  tones  aa  gruff  from  his  infurmte  breast. —Canto  yi  88. 

6.  Bodily  fear  gives  to  the 
features  a  different  expression, 
by  differently  affecting  the  mus- 
cles. In  men,  as  in  animals,  the 
expression  is  without  dignity — 
the  mean  anticipation  of  pain. 
Here  the  frontal  muscle,  un- 
wrinkling  the  eyebrows,  raises 
them  to  their  fullest  extent ;  the 
eyeball  is  largely  uncovered,  and 
the  eyes  staring ;  the  whole  up- 
per lip  is  raised  instead  of  a  part 
of  it.  The  nostrils  are  spread 
out,  and  the  lower  jaw  is  fallen, 
while  in  rage  it  is  in  the  oppo- 
site condition.  There  is  a  spas- 
modic affection  of  the  muscles  of  the  chest,  a  trembling  of  the 
lips,  a  hoUowness  and  convulsive  motion  of  the  cheeks,  and  a 
cadaverous*  aspect,  caused  by  the  receding  of  the  blood. 

7.  Terror,  that  species  of  fear  which  rouses  to  defend  or 
escape,  is  thus  alluded  to  by  Shakspeare : 


Fig  12.— Bodily  Fear. 


110 


willson's  fifth  eeader. 


Part  in. 


Canst  thou  quake  and  cliange  thy  color',  • 

Murther  tliy  breath  in  middle  of  a  word', 

And  then  again  begin',  and  stop  again', 

As  if  thou  waat  distraught^  and  mad  with  terror'  ? — Richard  III. 

But  when  terror  is  mixed  with  astonishment,  the  fugitive^ 
and  unnerved  steps  of  mere  terror  are  changed  for  the  root- 
ed and  motionless  figure  of  a  creature  appalled  and  stupefied. 
Spenser  characterizes  well  this  kind  of  terror : 

lie  answer'd  naught  at  all ;  but,  adding  new- 
Fear  to  his  first  amazement,  staring  wide 
With  stony  eyes,  and  heartless  hollow  hue, 
Astonish' d  stood,  as  one  that  had  espy'd 
Infernal  furies  with  their  chains  unty'd. 

8.  Differing  from  any  thing  to 
which  we  have  yet  alluded  is  the 
mixed  expression  which  a  testy j"^ 
peevish,  suspicious,  jealous  mel- 
ancholy gives  to  the  countenance 
— the  expression  of  one  who  is 
incapable  of  receiving  satisfac- 
tion, from  whatever  source  it  may 
be  ofiered;  who  can  not  endure 
any  man  to  look  steadily  upon 
him,  or  even  to  speak  to  him,  or 
laugh,  or  jest,  or  be  familiar,  with- 
out thinking  himself  contemned,^ 
insulted,  or  neglected.  See  how 
the  corners  of  the  mouth  are  drawn  down,  and  the  chin  drawn 
up ;  notice  the  peevish  turn  given  to  the  lowering  eyebrows, 
and  the  peculiar  meeting  of  the  perpendicular  and  transverse^ 
furrows  of  the  forehead. 

9.  Envy,  which  "  consumeth  a  man  as  a  moth  doth  a  gar- 
ment," has  a  similar  expression.  Jealousy,  which  is  a  fitful 
and  unsteady  passion,  is  marked  by  a  frowning  and  dark  ob- 
liquity^°  of  the  eyes ;  and  suspicion  by  the  same,  combined 
with  earnest  attention.  The  latter  passion  is  thus  forcibly 
characterized  by  Spenser  in  his  Faery  Queen : 

Foul,  ill -favored  and  grim,ii 
Under  his  eyebrows  looking  still  axkanco  ; 
And  ever  as  Dissemblance  laughed  on  him, 
lie  lower' d  on  her  with  dangerous  eye  glance, 
Showing  his  nature  in  his  coiuitenance: 
His  rolling  eyes  did  never  rest  in  iilaco. 
But  walked  each  where,  for  fear  of  hid  mischance,^' 
Holding  a  lattice  still  before  his  face, 
Through  which  he  still  did  peep  as  forward  he  did  pace.— R  UL,  c.  13. 

10.  It  is  an  important  truth  tliat  all  these  muscular  move- 
ments, which  give  expression  to  the  countenance,  are  directed 
and  controlled  by  the  nervous  influence  transmitted  from  the 


Fig.  13.— Jealous  Melancholy. 


2d  Div.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN  PHYSIOLOGY  AND   HEALTH.  Ill 

brain  through  the  nerve  fibres,  as  shown  in  the  engraving  at 
the  head  of  this  lesson.  Is  not  the  variety  of  expression  thus 
produced  a  very  striking  proof  of  design — an  evidence  that 
all  our  emotions  are  intended  to  have  their  appropriate  out- 
ward characters  ? 


1  Ram-i-pi-€a'-tions,  branchings, 

2  Liv'-ID,  black  and  blue. 

3  Knit,  contracted. 

*  €a-dav'-eb-ocs,  like  a  dead  body;  pale. 

*  Dis-teaught'  (dis-trmvt')^  mstracted. 

6  FtJ'-Gi-TivE,  inclined  to  flee  away. 

7  TIsT'-y,  petulant ;  fretful. 


8  €on-teiMn'ed.  regarded  with  contempt. 

9  Teans- VERSE  ,  running  crosswise. 

^0  Ob-liq'-ui-ty  (ob-lik'-we-ty)^  a  deviation 
from  a  right  line. 

^  1  GeTm,  adapted  to  create  terror ;  ill-look- 
ing. 

'2  Mis-chanoe',  ill  fortune. 


LESSON   Xn. USES    OF   ANATOMY    AND   PHYSIOLOGY 

TO   THE   PAINTER. 

1.  As  anatomy  makes  us  acquainted  with  that  structure  by 
which  the  mind  expresses  emotion,  and  through  which  the 
emotions  are  controlled  and  modified,  it  introduces  us  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  relations  and  mutual  influences  which  exist 
between  the  mind  and  the  body.  To  the  painter,  therefore, 
the  study  is  necessarily  one  of  great  importance.  It  does  not 
teach  him  to  use  his  pencil',  but  it  teaches  him  to  observe  na- 
ture\  to  see  forms  in  their  minute  varieties,  which,  but  for  the 
principles  here  elucidated,^  would  pass  unnoticed^ ;  to  catch 
expressions  so  evanescent^  that  they  must  escape  him'  did  he 
not  know  their  sources\  It  is  this  reducing  of  things  to  their 
principles  which  elevates  his  art  into  a  connection  with  phi- 
losophy', and  which  gives  it  the  character  of  a  liberaP  art.^ 

2.  Anatomy  leads  to  the  observation  of  all  the  characteris- 
tic varieties  which  distinguish  the  frame  of  the  body  or  coun- 
tenance. A  knowledge  of  the  peculiarities  of  infancy,  youth, 
or  age' ;  of  sickness  or  robust  health' ;  or  of  the  contrasts  be- 
tween manly  and  muscular  strength  and  feminine  delicacy' ; 
or  of  the  appearances  which  pain  or  death  present',  belongs  to 
its  province  as  much  as  the  study  of  the  muscles  of  the  face 
when  affected  by  emotion\  Viewed  in  this  comprehensive 
light,  anatomy  forms  a  science  not  only  of  great  interest,  but 
one  which  will  be  sure  to  give  the  artist  a  true  spirit  of  ob- 
servation, teach  him  to  distinguish  what  is  essential  to  just 
expression,  and  direct  his  attention  to  appearances  on  which 
the  effect  and  force,  as  well  as  the  delicacy  of  his  delinea- 
tions,* will  be  found  to  depend. — Sir  Charles  Bell. 

»  E-LtJ'-oi-DA-TED,  made  plain.  I    the  liberal  arts— anch  as  painting,  music, 

a  Ev-A-NES'-CENT,  fleeting;  quickly  passing     etc. 

away.  *  DE-LrN-B-X'-TiONS,  drawings  of  the  outlines 

'  Ltb'-er-AT^  embracing  elegant  culture,  as|    of  a  thing. 


112  willson's  fifth  EEADEK.  Pabt  III. 


LESSON  Xni. — MARVELS  OP  HUMAN  CALORIC. 

Eclectic  Review. 


[In  the  Fourth  Reader,  page  64,  the  principle  of  animal  heat  was  explained  as 
caused  by  the  union  of  the  oxygen  of  tiie  air  with  the  carbon,  or  worn-out  particles  of  our 
bodies.  This  carbon,  taken  in  as  a  part  of  our  food,  and  being  used  to  form  the  ti-ssuca  of 
the  body,  is  dislodged,  particle  by  particle,  whenever  we  move  a  muscle,  be  it  of  the  heart, 
lungs,  or  limbs,  and  whenever  we  tliink  or  feel ;  and  it  is  then  tliat  the  union  with  oxy- 
gen— that  is,  the  combustion,  takes  place.  The  more  intensely,  therefore,  we  think,  and 
act,  and  feel,  the  more  carbon  we  burn,  and  the  more  repairs  our  bodies  need.  The  con- 
dition of  life  is,  therefore,  death,  and  the  faster  we  live,  the  more  rapidly  are  the  particles 
of  our  bodies  burning  up — passing  away.  The  following  humorous  article  may  help  to  fix 
some  of  these  principles  in  our  memories.] 

1.  We  must  be  plain  with  our  readers.  It  will  not  do 
to  mince  matters  where  questions  of  science  are  concerned. 
Dainty^  people  will,  no  doubt,  object  to  the  proposition  we 
are  about  to  advance.  Nevertheless,  we  persist.  Fearless  of 
the  consequences,  utterly  unawed  by  the  hisses  which  we 
know  will  ensue,  we  proceed  to  lay  down  the  following  asser- 
tion :  We  are  all  living  stoves — walking  fireplaces — ^furnaces 
in  the  flesh. 

2.  Now  we  do  not  intend  to  say  that  any  one  can  light  a 
cigar,  or  boil  an  egg,  or  even  ignite^  a  lucifer-match  at  these 
human  hearths.  Still,  we  repeat,  these  bodies  of  ours  are 
stoves — fireplaces — furnaces  if  these  terms  can  be  applied  to 
any  apparatus  for  the  express  production  of  caloric.  And  is 
not  heat  produced  in  the  human  body  by  the  union  of  oxy- 
gen with  carbon,  just  the  same  as  by  the  burning  of  wood  in 
an  open  fireplace  ?  and  does  not  this  imion  take  place  in  the 
capillaries  of  the  blood-vessels  ? 

3.  But,  granting  that  our  bodies  are  veritable  stoves,  the 
reader  will  desire  to  know  where  we  procure  our  fuel.  For- 
tunately, our  coal  and  fire-wood  are  stored  up  in  a  very  inter- 
esting form.  They  are  laid  before  us  in  the  shape  of  bread 
and  butter,  puddings  and  pies ;  rashers^  of  bacon  for  the  la- 
borer, and  haunches'*  of  venison  or  turtle-soup  for  the  epi- 
cure.^ Instead  of  being  brought  up  in  scuttles,  they  are  pre- 
sented in  tureens,  dishes,  or  tumblers,  or  all  of  them,  in  pleas- 
ant succession. 

4.  In  fact,  whenever  you  send  a  person  an  invitation  to  din- 
ner, you  virtually  request  the  honor  of  his  company  to  take 
fuel;  and  when  you  see  him  enthusiastically  employed  on 
your  dainties,  you  know  that  he  is  literally  "shoveling"  fuel 
into  his  corporeal  stove.  The  ultimate  form  in  which  this 
fuel  is  burnt  in  the  capillaries  is  that  of  carbon,  with  a  little 
hydrogen  and  sulphur ;  but  we  swallow  it  in  the  shai>e  of  fat. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN  PHYSIOLOGY    AND   HEALTH.  113 

starch,  sugar,  alcohol,  and  other  less  inflammatory  compounds. 
By  far  the  most  heating  of  these  substances  is  fat ;  ten  pounds 
of  this  material,  imported  into  your  stove,  will  do  as  much 
work — that  is,  will  produce  as  much  warmth  as  twenty-five 
pounds  of  starch,  twenty-five  of  sugar,  or  even  twenty-six  of 
spirits. 

5.  And  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  to  observe  how  sagaciously 
the  instinct  of  man  has  fastened  upon  the  articles  which  will 
best  supply  him  with  the  species  of  fuel  he  requires.  The 
Esquimaux  is  extremely  partial  to  oily  fare.  He  does  not 
know  why.  He  never  heard  of  the  doctrine  of  animal  heat. 
But  he  feels  intuitively^  that  bear's  grease  and  blubber  are  the 
things  for  him.  Condemn  him  to  live  on  potatoes  or  Indian 
corn,  and  the  poor  fellow  would  resent  the  cruelty  as  much 
as  an  alderman  of  the  old  school  if  sentenced  to  subsist  on 
water-gruel  alone. 

6.  And  the  savage  would  be  perfectly  right.  Exposed  as 
he  is  to  the  fierce  cold  of  a  northern  sky,  every  object  around 
him  plundering  him  of  his  caloric  incessantly,  what  he  needs 
is  plenty  of  oily  food,  because  from  this  he  can  produce  the 
greatest  quantity  of  heat.  On  the  other  hand,  the  native  of 
the  tropics,  equally  ignorant  of  animal  chemistry,  eschews"  the 
fiery  diet  which  his  climate  renders  inappropriate,  and  keeps 
himself  cool  on  rice,  or  dates,  or  watery  fruits. 

7.  Hence  we  see  the  reason  why  a  very  stout  man,  if  de- 
prived of  food,  can  keep  up  his  corporeal  fires  for  a  longer 
time  than  a  slender  one.  Human  fat  is  fuel  laid  away  for  use. 
It  constitutes  a  hoard  of  combustible  material  upon  which 
the  owner  may  draw  whenever  his  ordinary  supplies  are  in- 
tercepted. Let  all  plump  persons  therefore  rejoice.  We 
oflTer  them  our  hearty,  perhaps  somewhat  envious  congratu- 
lations. They,  at  any  rate,  are  prepared  to  stand  a  long  siege 
from  cold. 

8.  For  the  same  reason,  animals  which  hybernate,^  like  the 
bear,  jerboa,  marn:iot,  dormouse,  bat,  and  others,  generally 
grow  plump  before  they  retire  into  winter-quarters.  Upon 
their  capital  of  fat  they  subsist  during  their  lethargy,^  the 
respiration  being  lessened,  the  pulse  reduced  to  a  few  beats 
per  minute,  and  the  temperature  perhaps  nearly  to  the  freez- 
ing point.  But,  when  the  season  of  torpor  terminates,  they 
issue  from  their  caves  and  burrows  meagre  and  ravenous, 
having  burnt  up  their  stock  of  fuel,  Bruin^o  himself  appear- 
ing to  be  anxious  to  defraud  the  perfumers  of  the  unguent^^ 
which  is  so  precious  in  their  eyes. 


114  willson's  fifth  beader.  Past  in. 

9.  But  perhaps  the  most  striking  feature  in  this  warmth- 
producing  apparatus  within  us  is  the  self-regulating  power 
which  it  possesses.  The  tires  on  our  domestic  hearths  decline 
at  one  moment  and  augment  at  another.  Sometimes  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house  threatens  to  faint  on  account  of  excessive 
heat ;  sometimes  the  master  endeavors  to  improve  the  tem- 
perature by  a  passionate  use  of  the  poker,  with  an  occasional 
growl  respecting  the  excessive  cold. 

10.  Were  such  irregularities  to  prevail  unchecked  in  our 
fleshy  stoves,  we  should  sufier  considerable  annoyance.  After 
a  meal  of  very  inflammatory  materials,  or  an  hour  spent  in 
extraordinary  exertion,  the  gush  of  caloric  might  throw  the 
system  into  a  state  of  high  fever.  How  is  this  prevented  ? 
In  some  of  our  artificial  stoves,  little  doors  or  slides  are  em- 
ployed to  control  the  admission  of  air ;  in  furnaces  connected 
with  steam-engines,  we  may  have  dampers  which  will  accom- 
plish the  same  purpose  by  the  ingenious  workings  of  the  ma- 
chine itself. 

11.  But  neither  doors  nor  dampers,  pokers  nor  stokers,^^ 
can  be  employed  in  the  bodily  apparatus.  If,  on  the  one 
hand,  our  human  fires  should  begin  to  flag  from  undue  ex- 
penditure of  heat,  the  appetite  speaks  out  sharply,  and  com- 
pels the  owner  to  look  round  for  fuel.  Hunger  rings  the  bell, 
and  orders  up  coals  in  the  shape  of  savory  meats.  Or,  should 
the  summons  be  neglected,  the  garnered  fat,  as  we  have  seen, 
is  thrown  into  the  grate  to  keep  the  furnace  in  play. 

12.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  heat  of  the  body  should  be- 
come unreasonably  intense,  a  very  cunning  process  of  reduc- 
tion is  adopted.  When  a  substance  grows  too  hot,  the  sim- 
plest method  of  bringing  it  into  a  cooler  frame  is  tg  sprinkle 
it  with  water.  This  is  precisely  what  occurs  in  our  human 
frames.  For  no  sooner  does  our  internal  heat  rise  above  its 
standard  height  than  the  perspiration  tubes,  with  their  six  or 
seven  millions  of  openings,  indignant  at  the  event,  begin  to 
pour  out  their  fluid,  so  as  to  bathe  the  surface  of  the  whole 
body.  Whenever,  therefore,  a  man  becomes  overheated  by 
working,  running,  rowing,  fighting,  making  furious  speeches, 
or  other  violent  exertions,  he  invariably  resorts  to  this  method 
of  quenching  the  heat  by  "  pouring  on  water." 

13.  What  shall  we  say,  then,  good  reader?  Speaking  seri- 
ously, and  looking  at  the  question  from  a  mere  human  point 
of  view,  could  any  project  appear  more  ho])eless  than  one  for 
burning  fuel  in  a  soft,  delicate  fabric  like  tlie  human  body — a 
fabric  composed  for  the  most  part  of  mere  fluids — a  fabric 


2d  Div.  OP  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY  AND  HEALTH.  115 

which  might  be  easily  scorched  by  excess  of  heat  or  damaged 
by  excess  of  cold?  Does  not  it  seem  strange  that  a  stove 
should  have  flesh  for  its  walls,  veins  for  its  flues,  and  skin  for 
its  covering  ?  Yet  here  is  an  apparatus  which,  as  if  by  magic, 
produces  a  steady  stream  of  heat — not  trickling  penuriously 
from  its  fountains,  but  flowing  on  day  and  night,  winter  and 
summer,  without  a  moment's  cessation,  from  January  to  De- 
cember. * 

14.  Carry  this  splendid  machine  to  the  coldest  regions  on 
the  globe,  set  it  up  where  the  frosts  are  so  crushing  that  na- 
ture seems  to  be  trampled  dead,  stiU  it  pours  out  its  mysteri- 
ous supplies  with  unabated  profusion.  It  is  an  apparatus, 
too,  which  does  its  work  unwatched,  and,  in  a  great  measure, 
unaided.  The  very  fuel,  which  is  thrown  into  it  in  random 
heaps,  is  internally  sifted  and  sorted,  so  that  the  true  combus- 
tible elements  are  conveyed  to  their  place  and  applied  to  their 
duty  with  unerring  precision. 

15.  No  hand  is  needed  to  trim  its  fires,  to  temper  its  glow, 
to  remove  its  ashes.  Smoke  there  is  none,  spark  there  is  none, 
flame  there  is  none.  All  is  so  delicately  managed  that  the 
fairest  skin  is  neither  shriveled  nor  blackened  by  the  burning 
within.  Is  this  apparatus  placed  in  circumstances  which  rob 
it  too  fast  of  its  caloric?  Then  the  appetite  becomes  clamor- 
ous for  food,  and,  in  satisfying  its  demands,  the  fleshy  stove 
is  silently  replenished.  Or,  are  we  placed  in  peril  from  super- 
abundant warmth  ?  Then  the  tiny  flood-gates  of  perspiration 
are  flung  open,  and  the  surface  is  laid  under  water  until  the 
fires  within  are  reduced  to  their  wonted  level. 

16.  Assailed  on  the  one  hand  by  heat,  the  body  resists  the 
attack,  if  resistance  be  possible,  until  the  store  of  moisture  is 
dissipated ;  assailed  on  the  other  by  cold,  it  keeps  the  enemy 
at  bay  until  the  hoarded  stock  of  fuel  is  expended.  Thus 
protected,  thus  provisioned,  let  us  ask  whether  these  human 
hearths  are  not  entitled  to  rank  among  the  standing  marvels 
of  creation  ?  for  is  it  not  startling  to  find  that,  let  the  climate 
be  mild  or  rigorous,  let  the  wind  blow  from  the  sultry  desert, 
or  come  loaded  with  polar  sleet,  let  the  fluctuations  of  tem- 
perature be  as  violent  as  they  may  without  us,  there  shall  still 
be  a  calm,  unchanging,  undying  summer  within  us  ? 

7  Es-ciTEws',  shuns,  or  avoids. 

8  Hy'-bkb-nate,  pass  the  winter  in  seclu- 
sion. 

9  Leth'-ar-6y,  morbid  drowsiness. 
0  Bbu'-in,  a  name  given  to  a  bear. 

tJN '-GHENT,  ointment. 


i  Dain'-ty,  delicate ;  affectedly  nice. 

2  Io-nTte',  to  kindle. 

3  RaSu'-ee,  a  thin  slice. 

*  HXtiNon,  the  hip.  [rics  of  the  table. 

^  kp'-i-€Cre,  one  who  indulges  in  the  luxu- 
6  iN-TtJ'-i-TivE-LY,  perceived  directly  by  the 


mind,  without  reasoning.  I"  StO'-keb,  one  who  attends  to  the  fire. 


116  WILLS on's  fifth  readek.  PabtIII. 


LESSON   XIY. — LINES   ON   A   SKELETON. 

[About  forty  years  ago  the  London  Morning  Chronicle  published  a  poem  entitled  "  Lines 
on  a  Skeleton,"  which  excited  much  attention.  Every  effort,  even  to  the  offering  a  re- 
ward of  fifty  guineas,  was  vainly  made  to  discover  the  author.  All  that  ever  transpired 
was  that  the  pL»ein,  in  a  fair  clerkly  hand,  was  found  near  a  skeleton  of  remarkable  beau- 
ty of  form  and  color,  in  the  Museum  of  the  Koyal  College  of  Surgeons,  Lincoln's  Inn,  Lon- 
don, and  that  the  curator  of  tlie  museum  had  sent  them  to  Mr.  Terry,  editor  and  proprie- 
tor of  the  Morning  Chronicle.2 

1.  Behold  this  ruin^ !     'Twas  a  skull, 
Once  of  ethereal  spirit  full. 

This  narrow  cell  was  Life's  retreat\ 
This  space  was  Thought's  mysterious  seat. 
What  beauteous  visions  filled  this  spot\ 
What  dreams  of  pleasure  long  forgot. 
Nor  Hope,  nor  Love,  nor  Joy,  nor  Fear', 
Have  left  one  trace  of  record  here. 

2.  Beneath  this  mouldering  canopy 
Once  shone  the  bright  and  busy  eye* ; 
But,  start  not  at  the  dismal  void — 
If  social  Love  that  eye  employed' ; 
If  with  no  lawless  fire  it  gleamed, 

But  through  the  dews  of  kindness  beamed'. 
That  eye  shall  be  forever  bright 
When  stars  and  suns  are  sunk  in  night. 

3.  Within  this  hollow  cavern  hung 
The  ready,  swift,  and  tuneful  tongue. 
If  Falsehood's  honey  it  disdained. 

And  where  it  could  not  praise,  was  chained' ; 
If  bold  in  Virtue's  cause  it  spoke. 
Yet  gentle  Concord  never  broke'  I 
This  silent  tongue  shall  plead  for  thee 
When  Time  unveils  Eternity. 

4.  Say\  did  these  fingers  delve  the  mine'  ? 
Or  with  its  envied  rubies  shine'  ? 

To  hew  the  rock,  or  wear  the  gem, 
Can  little  now  avail  to  them. 
But  if  the  page  of  Truth  they  sought. 
Or  comfort  to  the  mourner  brought', 
These  hands  a  richer  meed  shall  claim 
Than  all  that  wait  on  Wealth  or  Fame. 

6.  Avails  it  whether  bare  or  shod, 

These  feet  the  paths  of  duty  trod'  ? — 
If  from  the  bowers  of  Ease  they  fled. 
To  seek  Affliction's  humble  shed, 
If  Grandeur's  guilty  bribe  they  spumed. 
And  home  to  Virtue's  cot  returned', 
These  feet  with  angel's  wings  shall  vie, 
And  tread  the  palace  of  the  sky. 


2d  DiV.  OP  .  .  .  HUMAK   PHYSIOLOGY   AND   HEALTH.  117 


LES.  XV. — EDUCATION   OF  THE  MUSCLES   OF  EXPEESSION. 
(Adapted  chiefly  from  Hooker.) 

1.  As  the  muscles  of  the  face  are  the  instruments  of  the 
mind  in  the  expression  of  thought,  feehngs,  and  emotions,  it 
is  highly  important  that  they  should  be  well  trained  to  per- 
form with  ease  and  grace  their  appropriate  functions  ;^  for 
the  highest  degree  of  beauty,  which  is  the  beauty  of  expres- 
sion, depends  much  more  upon  the  attitudes  and  movements 
of  the  face  than  upon  the  shape  of  the  features.  We  often 
see  a  face  that  is  beautiful  in  repose  become  ugly  the  mo- 
ment it  is  in  action,  because  the  movements  of  the  muscles 
are  so  uncouth  f  and,  on  the  other  hand,  we  often  see  faces 
which  are  very  irregular  in  the  shape  of  the  features,  display 
great  beauty  when  in  action,  owing  to  the  easy  and  graceful 
movements  of  the  muscles  of  expression.  Addison  has  justly 
said,  "  No  woman  can  be  handsome  by  the  force  of  features 
alone,  any  more  than  she  can  be  witty  only  by  the  help  of 
speech." 

2.  Children  not  unfrequently  form  awkward  habits  in  the 
use  of  the  muscles  of  the  face,  which  finally  become  perma- 
nent ;  and  a  little  observation  will  convince  us  that  there  is 
nearly  as  much  difference  in  skill  in  the  use  of  these  mus- 
cles as  in  the  use  of  those  of  the  hand.  For  higher  exam- 
ples of  this  skill  we  need  not  go  to  the  accomplished  ora- 
tor or  actor ;  we  shall  find  them  exhibited,  in  the  ordinary 
intercourse  of  life,  in  those  who  have  great  capacity  of  expres- 
sion, together  with  a  mind  uncommonly  refined  and  suscepti- 
ble. In  them  every  shade  of  thought  and  feeling  is  clearly 
and  beautifully  traced  in  the  countenance.  While  this  is  the 
result  of  education  of  the  muscles  of  expression,  an  education 
of  which  the  individual  is  for  the  most  part  unconscious,  no 
direct  attempt  in  the  training  of  these  muscles  will  succeed 
unless  the  onind  itself  he  of  the  right  character. 

3.  Awkwardness  of  expression,  arising  from  habit,  may  be 
counteracted  by  judicious  physical  training,  but  intelligence 
and  kindness  can  not  be  made  to  beam  from  the  countenance 
if  they  do  not  emanate^  from  the  moving  spirit  within.  They 
are  often  awkwardly  counterfeited,  the  one  by  the  bustling 
air  assumed  by  the  face  of  the  shallow  pretender,  and  the 
other  by  the  smirk  of  him  who  smiles  only  to  get  favor  or 
profit  from  others.  On  the  other  hand,  not  only  will  those 
evil  and  malignant  passions,  which  are  of  a  decidedly  marked 


118  willson's  fifth  EEADER.  Pakt  III. 

expression,  leave  their  permanent  traces  in  the  countenance, 
but  coarse  feelings  and  brutal  instincts  write  their  images 
there  also,  and  nothing  but  a  thorough  change  of  character 
can  possibly  efface  them.  We  must  therefore  begin  with  the 
mind  and  the  heart  if  we  would  educate  the  countenance  to 
the  higher  expressions  of  beauty. 

4.  Some  of  the  most  striking  exemplifications  of  the  influ- 
ence of  the  mind  and  heart  upon  the  expressions  of  the  coun- 
tenance are  to  be  seen  in  those  institutions  where  juvenile 
outcasts  from  society  are  redeemed  from  their  degradation 
by  the  hand  of  benevolence.  The  progress  of  the  mental  and 
moral  cultivation  may  often  be  traced,  from  week  to  week, 
and  sometimes  from  day  to  day,  in  the  changing  lineaments* 
of  the  face,  as  lively  intelligence  takes  the  i^lace  of  stolid^ 
indifference,  and  refined  sentiment  that  of  brutal  passion. 
Sometimes  a  few  weeks  sufiice  to  change  the  whole  character 
of  the  expression  in  the  faces  of  the  young.  The  dull  eye 
becomes  bright,  not  from  any  change  in  the  eye  itself,  but 
froni  the  intelligence  and  sentiment  that  now  play  upon  the 
muscles  in  its  neighborhood.  But  where  passions  have  been 
making  their  impress  on  the  countenance  during  a  long  course 
of  years,  so  that  the  features  become  fixed  in  the  prevailing 
expression,  the  traces  are  not  so  easily  removed. 

5.  The  habitual  expression  of  the  countenance,  depending 
as  it  does  upon  the  habitual  condition  of  the  muscles,  is  seen 
after  death.  In  the  state  of  relaxation  which  immediately 
occurs  at  death,  the  face  is  very  inexpressive,  because  its  mus- 
cles are,  together  with  those  of  the  whole  body,  so  entirely 
relaxed.  But  very  soon  they  begin  to  contract,  and,  as  they 
assume  that  degree  of  contraction  to  which  they  were  habit- 
uated during  life,  they  give  to  the  countenance  its  habitual 
expression. 

6.  It  is  when  this  has  taken  place — when  the  muscles,  re- 
covering from  the  relaxation  of  the  death-hour,  resume  their 
accustomed  attitude,  as  we  may  express  it,  that  the  counte- 
nance of  our  friend  appears  so  natural  to  us,  and  we  are  held, 
as  if  by  a  charm,  gazing  upon  the  intelHgence  and  affection 
beaming  there  amid  the  awful  stillness  of  death,  till  it  seems 
as  if  those  lips  must  have  language.  And  this  expression  is 
retained  through  all  the  period  of  rigidity,  till  it  is  dissolved 
by  the  relaxation  which  succeeds  this  state  and  ushers  in  the 
process  of  decay.  It  is  thus  that  the  soul,  as  it  takes  its  flight, 
leaves  its  impress  upon  the  noblest  part  of  its  tabernacle^  of 
ilesh  ;  and  it  is  not  effaced''  till  the  last  vestige^  of  life  is  gone, 


2d  DiV.  OP  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY   AND   HEALTH.  119 

and  the  laws  of  dead  matter  take  possession  of  the  body. 
This  state  of  countenance  is  thus  beautifully  alluded  to  by 
Byron : 

T.  He  who  hath  bent  him  o'er  the  dead,  * 

Ere  the  first  day  of  death  has  fled, 
The  first  dark  day  of  nothingness, 
The  last  of  danger  and  distress 
(Before  decay' s  effacing  fingers 
Have  swept  the  lines  where  beauty  lingers), 
And  mark'd  the  mild  angelic  air, 
The  rapture  of  repose  that's  there, 
The  fix'd  yet  tender  traits  that  streak 
The  languor  of  the  placid  cheek, 
And— but  for  that  sad,  shrouded  eye. 
That  fires  not,  wins  not,  weeps  not  now, 
And  but  for  that  chill,  changeless  brow, 
Where  cold  obstruction's  apathy 
Appalls  the  gazing  mourner's  heart, 
As  if  to  him  it  could  impart 
The  doom  he  dreads,  yet  dwells  upon — 
Yes,  but  for  these,  and  these  alone. 
Some  moments,  ay,  one  treacherous  hour. 
He  still  might  doubt  the  tyrant's  power; 
So  fair,  so  calm,  so  softly  sealed. 
The  first,  last  look  by  death  revealed  I 
So  coldly  sweet,  so  deadly  fair. 
We  start,  for  soul  is  wanting  there. 
This  is  the  loveliness  in  death 
That  parts  not  quite  with  parting  breath ; 
Ikit  beauty  with  that  fearful  bloom. 
That  hue  which  haunts  it  to  tlie  tomb, 
Expression' s  last  receding  ray, 
A  gilded  halo  hovering  round  decay. 
The  farewell  beam  of  feeling  pass'd  away ! 
Spark  of  that  flame,  perchance  of  heavenly  birth. 
Which  gleams,  but  warms  no  more  its  cherish'd  earth  1 


1  FCnc'-tions,  actions  or  offices. 

2  Un-€6cth',  awkward  ;  ungraceful. 

3  Km'-a-nate,  flow  or  proceed  from. 

4  JjIn'-e-a-ments,  outlines ;  features. 


5  StCl'-id,  stupid. 

6  Tab'-ek-na-€le,  a  temporary  habitation. 

7  1'>-faced',  removed ;  rubbed  out. 

8  Ves'-tigb,  the  remains ;  the  trace. 


LES.  XVI. DISOEDEES    OF  THE   NEEYOUS    SYSTEM. 

VISIONS,  APPAEITIONS,  AND  DREAMS,  AS  VIEWED  IN 
CONNECTION  WITH  PHYSIOLOGY. 

1.  It  has  already  been  stated  that  a  knowledge  of  external 
things  is  conveyed  to  the  brain  through  the  medium  of  the 
nerves  of  sensation.  How  the  items  of  knowledge  thus  ob- 
tained are  stored  up  in  the  brain,  and  how  the  mind  is  able  to 
recall  them  in  some  subsequent  period,  and  form  of  them  new 
combinations,  has  usually  been  thought  to  belong  especially 
to  the  department  of  mental  philosophy  to  consider :  but  even 
here  it  will  be  found  that  anatomy  and  physiology  furnish  the 
safest  guides  to  iuvestigation. 

2.  The  involuntary^  action  of  the  muscles  of  the  heart  and 
lungs  is  accounted  for  on  the  supposition  that,  at  the  origin 
of  the  nerves  which  control  them,  an  amount  of  directing  nerv- 


120  willson's  fifth  eeadee.  Pabt  III. 

ous  force  is  stored  up  sufficient  to  continue  the  motion,  with- 
out mental  control,  until  the  supply  is  exhausted.  It  is  also 
believed  that  the  sensations  Avhich  the  nerves  of  taste,  touch, 
sfbell,  sight,  and  hearing  convey  to  the  brain,  leave  upon  that 
organ,  or  stored  up  in  its  sensorium  or  seat  of  j^ower,  impres- 
sions which  can  be  fully  ei-adicated^  only  by  death  ;  and  that 
these  impressions,  which  may  be  regarded  as  images  of  the 
outward  world,  the  mind  makes  use  of  in  memory,  in  imagin- 
ation, in  visions,  in  fancied  apparitions,  and  in  dreams,  often 
forming  new  and  strange  combinations  very  different  from 
the  original  impressions. 

3.  Some  physiologists  believe  that  every  impression  made 
upon  the  material  substance  of  the  brain  produces  some  per- 
manent change  in  its  structure,  and  that  one  impression  nev- 
er completely  effaces  another ;  that  the  mind  can,  as  it  were, 
see  all  of  them^  and  that  what  the  mind  or  soul  thus  learns, 
death  itself  can  not  destroy.  Even  certain  physical  phenome- 
na, explained  by  Dr.  Draper,  give  countenance  to  the  theory 
of  permanent  impressions  upon  the  material  substance  of  the 
brain.  He  says,  "  If  on  a  cold,  polished  piece  of  metal,  any 
object,  as  a  wafer,  is  laid,  and  the  metal  then  be  breathed 
upon,  and,  when  the  moisture  has  had  time  to  disappear,  the 
Avafer  be  thrown  off,  though  now  upon  the  polished  surface 
the  most  critical  inspection  can  discover  no  trace  of  any  form, 
yet,  if  we  breathe  upon  it,  a  spectraP  figure  of  the  wafer  comes 
mto  view,  and  this  may  be  done  again  and  again. 

4.  "  Nay,  even  more^ ;  if  the  polished  metal  be  carefully  put 
aside  where  nothing  can  deteriorate*  its  surface,  and  be  so 
kept  for  many  months,  on  breathing  again  upon  it  the  shad- 
owy form  emerges ;  or,  if  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  a  key  or 
other  object  is  laid  be  carried  for  a  few  moments  into  the  sun- 
shine, and  then  instantaneously  viewed  in  the  dark,  the  key 
being  simultaneously  removed,  a  fiiding  spectre  of  the  key  on 
the  paper  will  be  seen ;  and  if  the  paper  be  put  away  where 
nothing  can  disturb  it,  and  so  kept  for  many  months,  if  it  then 
be  carried  into  a  dark  place  and  laid  on  a  piece  of  hot  metal, 
the  spectre  of  the  key  will  come  forth.  In  the  case  of  bodies 
more  highly  phosphorescent  than  paper,  the  spectres  of  many 
different  objects  which  may  have  been  in  succession  laid  orig- 
inally thereupon  will,  on  warming,  emerge  in  their  proper  or- 
der. 

5.  "I  introduce  these  illustrations,"  says*Dr.  Draper,  "for 
the  purpose  of  showing  how  trivial  are  the  impressions  which 
may  be  thus  registered  and  preserved.    Indeed,  I  believe  that 


2dDlV.  OF.  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY    AND    HEALTH.  121 

a  shadow  never  falls  upon  a  wall  without  leaving  thereupon 
its  permanent  trace — a  trace  which  might  be  made  visible  by- 
resorting  to  proper  processes.  But  if  on  such  inorganic^  sur- 
faces impressions  may  in  this  way  be  preserved,  how  much 
more  likely  is  it  that  the  same  thing  occurs  in  the  purposely 
constituted  ganglia^  of  the  brain !"  But,  whether  the  impres- 
sions of  sense  be  permanently  fixed  in  the  material  substance 
of  the  brain  or  not,  there  is  no  reason  for  supposing  that  any 
perceptions  which  the  mind  has  once  taken  notice  of  can  ever 
be  lost ;  and  if  at  any  time  memory  fails  to  recall  them,  it  is 
because  the  brain,  and  not  the  mind  itself,  has  become  im- 
paired. 

6.  While,  in  the  exercise  of  ordinary  memory,  perceptions 
and  trains  of  thought  are  recalled  in  their  real  character  and 
natural  order,  it  is  not  so  in  what  are  called  visions,  fancied 
apparitions,  and  in  dreams.  The  most  common  visions — un- 
real objects  which  we  fancy — are  doubtless  the  remains  of 
impressions  which  have  been  made  on  the  optic''^  nerve,  and 
which  are  recalled  by  a  strong  mental  efibrt.  Others  arise 
from  disease  of  the  nerve,  often  producing,  by  the  impressions 
conveyed  from  the  diseased  nerve  to  the  brain,  grotesque  im- 
ages among  the  real  objects  at  which  we  are  looking.  Some 
unusual  pressure  of  blood  upon  this  nerve  will  often  produce 
apparent  flashes  of  light,  or  objects  apparently  floating  in  the 
air.    These  appearances  are  indications  of  disease  in  the  nerve. 

7.  When,  in  addition  to  the  optic'^  nerve,  portions  of  the 
brain  become  aflected  by  disease,  former  impressions  often 
become  mingled  with  the  present,  and  the  complicated  scenes 
of  a  passing  drama  are  displayed.  Thus,  in  the  dehrium  tre- 
mens, which  follows  a  cessation  from  the  customary  use  of  al- 
cohol, phantoms  appear  moving  around  among  real  objects. 
"  The  form  of  a  cloud  no  bigger  than  the  hand  may  perhaps 
first  be  seen  floating  over  the  carpet ;  but  this,  as  the  eye  fol- 
lows it,  takes  on  a  sharp  contour^  and  definite  shape,  and  the 
sufferer  sees  with  dismay  a  nioping  raven  on  some  of  the  more 
distant  articles  of  furniture.  Or,  out  of  an  indistinct  cloud, 
faces,  sometimes  of  surprising  loveliness,  but  more  frequently 
of  hideous  aspects,  emerge,  one  face  succeeding  as  another  dies 
away.  The  mind,  ever  ready  to  practice  imposture  upon  it- 
self, will  at  last  accompany  the  illusion  with  grotesque  or  even 
dreadful  inventions." 

8.  The  illusions  to  which  one  is  subject  under  such  derange- 
ments of  the  brain  take  a  character  from  the  previous  occu- 
pations, travel,  mental  habits,  or  reading  of  the  sick  man. 

F 


122  willson's  fifth  eeadeb.  Pakt  III. 

Former  trains  of  thought,  and  former  scenes,  although  often 
confusedly  mingled,  assume,  to  the  individual  himself,  all  the 
vividness  of  existing  realities.  "  I  saw,"  says  De  Quincey  in 
his  Confessions  of  an  Opium  Eater,  "  as  I  lay  awake  in  bed, 
vast  processions,  that  passed  along  in  mournful  pomp ;  friezes^ 
of  never-ending  stories,^'*  that  to  my  feelings  were  as  sad  and 
solemn  as  if  they  were  stories  drawn  from  times  before  CEdi- 
pus  or  Priam,  before  Tyre,  before  Memphis ;  and,  at  the  same 
time,  a  corresponding  change  took  place  in  my  d'reams ;  a  the- 
atre seemed  suddenly  opened  and  lighted  up  within  my  brain, 
which  presented  nightly  spectacles  of  more  than  earthly  splen- 
dor." 

9.  "What  are  called  "  apparitions,"  or  spectral  appearances, 
physiology  explains  upon  satisfactory  scientific  principles. 
They  arise  sometimes  from  a  disturbance  of  the  retina"  alone, 
which  gives  a  false  interpretation  of  present  impressions,  some- 
times from  the  vivid  recalling  of  old  images  which  have  been 
stored  up  in  the  brain,  but  which  the  mind  then  looks  upon 
as  present  realities,  and  sometimes  the  two  causes  imite  to 
produce  the  effect.  Upon  these  principles,  the  mind,  in  appa- 
ritions, could  never  see  any  thing  absolutely  7ieio  to  it.  And 
such  are  the  facts.  Thus  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans  were 
just  as  liable  to  disorders  of  the  nervous  system  as  we  are; 
but  to  them  supernatural  appearances  came  under  the  myth- 
ological forms  of  their  heathen  divinities.  The.  ascetics^^  of 
the  Middle  Ages  saw  phantoms  of  the  Virgin  and  the  saints, 
for  these  were  the  objects  which  their  minds  most  dwelt  upon ; 
and  at  a  later  period,  in  Northern  Europe,  fairies,  brownies, 
and  Robin  Goodfellows  were  the  phantoms  most  frequently 
seen.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  spectres  of  African  negroes  were 
common  enough ;  but  at  that  period  no  man  had  ever  wit- 
nessed one  of  an  American  Indian,  yet  these,  in  their  turn, 
prevailed  after  the  voyage  of  Columbus.  They  were  no 
strangers  to  our  early  colonial  settlers. 

10.  One  class  of  apparitions — those  of  the  dead — has  sur- 
vived all  changes  of  creed  and  superstitions,  as  we  might 
reasonably  suppose  would  be  the  case.  But  even  here,  as  the 
phenomena  consist  merely  of  the  emergence  of  old  images, 
and  new  combinations  of  them,  nothing  absolutely  new  was 
ever  seen  in  them.  The  Roman  saw  the  shade  of  his  friend 
clothed  in  the  well-known  toga  'P  the  European  sees  his  in  the 
modern  garb ;  and  the  spirit  of  Maupertuis,^^  which  stood  by 
the  bay-window  of  the  library  at  Berlin,  had  on  knee-breeches, 
silk  stockings,  and  shoes  with  large  silver  buckles.     If  these 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN  PHYSIOLOGY   AND   HEALTH. 


123 


apparitions  existed  elsewhere  than  in  a  diseased  brain,  is  it 
not  singular  that,  amid  the  awful  solemnities  of  the  other 
world,  they  should  so  faithfully  have  preserved  the  fashions  of 
the  present  ?  Science  is  a  great  dispeller  of  superstitious  fan- 
cies. 


1  In-vol'-ttn-ta-ey,  independent  of  the  will 

2  E-ead'-i-ca-ted,  rooted  out ;  destroyed. 

3  Spe€'-teal,  having  an  indistinct  or  ghostly 
appearance. 

*  De-tE'-ei-o-eIte,  impair;  injure. 

6  In-oe-gan'-  i€,  without  the  organs  or  instru 

ments  of  life. 
6  Gang'-li-a,  nerve  bundles, 
^  Op'-Tie  Nekve,  the  nerve  of  vision,  run 

ning  from'  the  eye  to  the  brain. 

8  €oN-T6trB,  outline  of  a  thing. 

9  Feieze,  in  architecture^  a  part  of  the  en 
tablature.     See  p.  2S2. 


10  Sto'-biej,  loft?,  or  sets  of  rooms  rising  one 
above  another. 

11  Ret'-i-na,  the  net-like  membrane  at  the 
back  of  the  eye  which  receives  the  imnge 
of  external  objects.     See  p.  83. 

12  As-cet'-i€,  one  who  practices  undue  rigor 
or  self-denial  in  religious  thing.?. 

13  To'-GA,  a  kind  of  gown. 

1*  Mau-pee-tjjis'  iMo-per-Uvi%  a  celebnited 
French  acjidemician — born  in  16i  8— died 
in  1759.  For  a  long  time  he  was  president 
of  the  Itoyal  Academy  of  Sciences  at  Ber- 
lin. 


LESSON   XYII. — A  DEEAM,  AND  ITS  EXPLANATION. 

Draper. 
1.  XoT  only  may  old  impressions  and  ideas  be  so  vividly 
recalled  as  to  be  presented  to  the  mind  with  all  the  force  of 
existing  realities,  but  in  this  manner  dreams  are  sometimes 
7'epeated ;  and  although  there  is  nothing  strange  in  this,  bur 
what  we  should  suppose  would  happen  frequently,  yet  the 
ignorant  often  regard  such  phenomena  as  something  border- 
ing on  the  supernatural.^  For  the  following  account,  given 
by  a  physician,  of  one  of  the  most  marvelous  dreams  of  this 
character,  and  its  explanation  on  physiological  principles,  we 
are  indebted  to  the  work  of  Dr.  Draper. 

2.  "When  I  was  five  or  six  years  old," says  tlie  naiTator,  "I  dreamed 
that  I  was  passing  by  a  large  pond  of  water  in  a  solitary  place.  On  the 
opposite  side  of  it  stood  a  great  tree,  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  struck  by 
lightning ;  and  in  the  pond,  at  another  part,  an  old  fallen  trunk,  on  one  of 
the  prone'"  limbs  of  which  was  a  turtle  sunning  himself.  On  a  sudden  a 
wind  arose,  which  forced  me  into  the  pond ;  and  in  my  dying  struggles  to 
extricate  myself  from  its  green  and  slimy  waters  I  awoke,  trembling  with 
terror. 

3.  "About  eight  years  subsequently,  while  recovering  from  a  nearly  fatal 
attack  of  scarlet  fever,  this  dream  presented  itself  to  me  again,  identical  in 
all  its  parts.  Even  up  to  this  time  I  do  not  think  I  had  ever  seen  a  living 
tortoise  or  turtle,  but  I  indistinctly  remembered  there  was  a  pictxxre  of  one 
in  the  first  spelling-book  that  had  been  given  me.  Perhaps,  on  account  of 
my  critical  condition,  this  second  dream  impressed  me  more  dreadfully  than 
the  first. 

4.  "A  dozen  years  more  elapsed.  I  had  become  a  physician,  and  was 
now  actively  pursuing  my  professional  duties  in  one  of  the  Southern  States. 
It  so  fell  out  that  one  July  afternoon  I  had  to  take  a  long  and  wearisome 
ride  on  horseback.     It  was  Sunday,  and  extremely  hot ;  the  path  was  soli- 


12-1:  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  III. 

tury,  and  not  a  house  for  miles.  The  forest  had  that  intense  silence  which 
is  so  characteristic  of  this  part  of  the  day ;  all  the  wild  animals  and  birds 
seemed  to  have  gone  to  their  retreats,  to  be  rid  of  the  heat  of  the  sun.  Sud- 
denly, at  one  point  of  the  road,  I  came  upon  a  great  stagnant  water-pool, 
and,  casting  ray  eye  across  it,  there  stood  a  jjine-tree  blasted  by  lightning, 
and  on  a  log  that  was  nearly  even  with  the  surface  a  turtle  was  basking  in 
the  sun.  The  dream  of  my  infancy  was  upon  me ;  the  bridle  fell  from  my 
hands  ;  and  an  unutterable  fear  overshadowed  me  as  I  slunk  away  from  the 
accursed  place. 

5.  "Though  business  occasionally  aftenvard  would  have  drawn  me  that 
way,  I  could  not  summon  the  resolution  to  go,  and  actually  have  taken 
roundabout  paths.  It  seemed  to  me  profoundly  amazing  that  the  dream 
which  I  had  twenty  years  before  should  now  be  realized,  mthout  respect  to 
difference  of  scenery,  or  climate,  or  age.  A  good  clerg}Tnan  of  my  ac- 
quaintance took  the  opportunity  of  improving  the  circumstance  to  my  spir- 
itual advantage ;  and  in  his  kind  enthusiasm,  for  he  knew  that  I  had,  more 
than  once,  been  brought  to  the  point  of  death  by  such  fevers,  interpreted 
my  dream  that  I  should  die  of  marsh  miasm.  ^ 

6.  "Most  persons  have  doubtless  observed  that  they  suddenly  encounter 
circumstances  or  events  of  a  trivial  nature  in  their  course  of  life,  of  which 
they  have  an  indistinct  recollection  that  they  have  dreamed  before.  It  seem- 
ed for  a  long  time  to  me  that  this  was  a  case  of  that  kind,  and  that  it  might 
be  set  down  among  the  mysterious  and  unaccountable.  How  wonderful  it 
is  that  we  so  often  fail  to  see  the  simple  explanation  of  things,  when  that 
explanation  is  actually  intruding  itself  before  us. 

7.  "And  so  in  this  case;  it  was  long  before  the  tnith  gleamed  in  u])on 
me,  before  my  reasoning  powers  shook  off  the  delusive  impressions  of  my 
senses.  But  it  occurred  at  last,  for  I  said  to  myself,  '  Is  it  more  probable 
that  such  a  mystery  is  true',  or  that  I  have  dreamed  for  the  third  time  that 
which  I  had  already  dreamed  of  twice  before^  ?  Have  I  really  seen  the 
blasted  tree  and  the  sunning  turtle'  ?  Are  a  weary  ride  of  fifty  miles,  the 
noontide  heat,  the  silence  that  could  almost  be  felt,  no  provocatives*  of  a 
dream'  ?  I  have  ridden,  under  such  circumstances,  many  a  mile,  fast 
asleep,  and  have  awoke  an4  known  it — and  so  I  resolved  that  if  ever  cir- 
cumstances carried  me  to  those  parts  again,  I  would  satisfy  myself  as  to  the 
matter. 

8.  "Accordingly, when, after  a  few  years,  an  incident  led  me  to  travel  there, 
I  revisited  the  well-remembered  scene.  There  still  was  the  stagnant  pool, 
but  the  blasted  pine-tree  was  gone ;  and,  after  I  had  pushed  my  horse  through 
the  marshy  thicket  as  far  as  I  could  urge  him,  and  then  dismounted  and 
pursued  a  close  investigation  on  foot  in  every  direction  round  the  spot,  I  was 
clearly  convinced  that  no  pine-tree  had  ever  grown  there ;  not  a  stump,  nor 
any  token  of  its  remains,  could  be  seen ;  and  so  now  I  have  concluded  that, 
at  th(?  glimpse  of  the  water,  with  the  readiness  of  those  who  arc  falling  asleep 
I  had  adopted  an  external  fact  into  a  dream  ;  that  it  had  aroused  the  trains 
of  thought  which,  in  former  years,  had  occupied  me ;  and  that,  in  fine,  the 
mystery  was  all  a  delusion,  and  that  I  had  been  frightened  with  less  than  a 
shadow." 

9.  The  instructive  story  of  tliis  physician  teaches  us  how 
readily,  and  yet  how  impressively,  the  remains  of  old  ideas 
may  be  recalled  ;  how  they  may,  as  it  were,  be  projected^  into 
the  space  beyond  us,  and  take  a  position  among  existing  re- 


2d  UlV.  OF^.  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY    AND    HEALTH.  125 

alities.  That  such  images  arise  from  a  physical  impression 
which  has  formerly  been  made  in  the  registering  ganglia  of 
the  brain,  it  is  impossible  to  doubt ;  and  it  is  philosophical  to 
suppose  that,  for  their  emergence^  from  their  dormant"^  state, 
it  is  only  necessary  that  there  should  be  a  dulling  or  blunting 
of  the  sensations  which  we  are  in  the  act  of  receiving  from 
external  sources,  so  that  these  latent^  relics,  laid  up  in  the 
brain,  may  present  themselves  with  at  least  equal  force. 

1  Stj-per-nat'-G-eal,  above  or  beyond  the  ^  Pro-je€t'-ed,  thruBt  forvvard. 
laws  of  nature;  miraculous.  6  E-mke'-gence,  a  coming  forth. 

2  Prone,  bending  downward.  |  ^  Dor'-mant,  sleeping. 

3  Mi'-A$M,  noxious  vapors  or  effluvia.  ;  8  La'-tent,  not  visible ;  concealed. 
*  Pbo-vo'-ca-tive,   that  which  excites    ori 

leads  to. 


LESSON    XVni. — THE   HEALTH    OF   THE   BRAIN. 

1.  Although  the  brain  is  the  seat  of  thought,  of  feeling,  and 
of  consciousness,  it  is  nevertheless  a  part  of  the  animal  system. 
Do  not  make  a  mistake  in  supposing  that  the  brain  is  the 
mind  itself.  It  is  merely  the  organ  of  the  mind — the  medium 
through  which  the  mind  acts.  In  like  manner,  speech  is  not 
thought  itself;  it  is  merely  an  instrument  by  which  thought 
is  conveyed  from  one  mind  to  another. 

2.  The  brain  is  subject  to  the  same  general  laws  of  health 
as  the  other  bodily  organs ;  and,  like  them,  it  is  liable  to  dis- 
ease. It  is  nourished  by  the  blood ;  it  is  strengthened  by  men- 
tal exercise ;  it  is  injured  by  over-exertion ;  and  it  is  enfeebled 
by  disease.  When  the  mind  thinks  intently,  an  increased 
quantity  of  blood  is  sent  to  the  brain  to  supply  the  waste  of 
material  occasioned  by  exercise  of  that  organ.  The  brain  is 
then  enlarged  in  bulk ;  and  hence  we  see  the  danger  of  too 
long  continued  intense  application,  which  often  results  in  con- 
gestion^  of  the  brain,  apoplexy,^  and  death.  So,  also,  if  the 
brain  be  highly  excited  by  the  excessive  use  of  stimulants,  a 
rush  of  blood  to  the  brain  will  be  the  consequence,  and  the 
mind  will  be  disturbed ;  and  if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  mind 
be  suddenly  roused  by  violent  passions,  the  vessels  of  the  brain 
will  instantly  be  excited  to  increased  action,  redness  will  suf- 
fuse the  face,  and  the  disturbance  will  be  the  same  as  if  pro- 
duced by  a  physical  cause. 

3.  Although  the  weight  of  the  brain  is  only  about  one  for- 
tieth of  the  weight  of  the  body,  yet  ordinarily  about  one  sixth 
of  all  the  blood  is  sent  to  this  organ.  If  more  than  the  usual 
quantity  be  sent  there,  as  will  happen  in  cases  of  intense  and 


120  WILLSON's  fifth   reader.  Part  III. 

long-continued  mental  exertion,  it  will  circulate  but  feebly  in 
other  parts,  and  hence  the  feet  will  become  cold,  the  stomach 
will  act  slowly,  and  active  muscular  exercise  can  not  be  taken 
with  profit ;  and  when,  on  the  other  hand,  other  parts  of  the 
body  require  a  bountiful  supply  of  blood,  as  is  the  case  when 
the  stomach  is  engaged  in  the  process  of  digestion,  and  when 
the  muscles  generally  are  called  into  vigorous  action,  the  brain 
will  be  incapable  of  its  greatest  eitbrts.  Hence  severe  mental 
.  application  should  never  be  attempted  just  before  or  after  a 
hearty  meal,  nor  during  any  active  muscular  exertion. 

4.  Keeping  in  view  that  the  brain  is  a  bodily  organ,  and 
that  thought  is  its  proper  stimulus  to  exertion— that,  like  an 
arm  in  a  sling,  it  dwindles  by  disuse,  and  becomes  slow  and 
feeble  in  its  movements,  we  shall  not  be  surprised  to  find  that 
inactivity  of  intellect  is  a  frequent  predisposing  cause  of  every 
form  of  nervous  disease.  We  witness  the  truth  of  this  in  the 
well-known  fact  that  solitary  confinement  is  so  severe  a  pun- 
ishment, even  to  the  strongest  minds,  as  often  to  produce  per- 
manent derangement  of  intellect,  and  even  confirmed  idiocy ; 
and  it  is  a  lower  degree  of  the  same  cause  which  renders  con- 
tinuous seclusion  from  society  so  injurious  to  botli  mental  and 
bodily  soundness.  We  also  see  the  effects  of  want  of  mental 
occupation  in  the  numerous  victims  to  nervous  disease  among 
females  of  the  middle  and  higher  ranks,  who,  having  no  calls  to 
exertion  in  gaining  the  means  of  subsistence,  and  no  objects 
of  interest  on  which  to  exercise  their  mental  faculties,  sink 
into  a  state  of  mental  sloth  and  nervousness,  which  not  only 
deprives  them  of  much  enjoyment,  but  subjects  them  to  suf- 
fering both  of  body  and  mind  from  the  slightest  causes. 

6.  An  additional  illustration,  and  a  very  common  one,  of  the 
bad  effects  of  want  of  mental  occupation,  is  often  presented  in 
the  case  of  a  man  of  mature  age  and  active  habits,  Mho,  having 
devoted  his  life  to  the  toils  of  business,  and  having  acquired 
a  competency,^  gives  up  all  his  business  relations,  and  retires 
to  the  country  to  seek  repose  and  enjoyment.  Suppose  such 
a  person  to  have  no  moral,  religious,  or  philosophical  pursuits 
to  occupy  his  attention  and  keep  up  the  active  exercise  of  his 
brain ;  this  organ  will  lose  its  health  from  inaction,  and  the 
inevitable  result  will  be,  weariness  of  life,  despondency,  mel- 
ancholy, or  some  other  form  of  nervous  disease.  Long  con- 
finement to  an  unvarying  round  of  employment,  which  affords 
neither  scope  nor  stimulus  for  one  half  of  the  faculties,  must 
also  be  prejudicial  to  the  health  and  vigor  of  the  nervous  sys- 
tem. 


2d  DiV.OP  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY    AND   HEALTH.  127 

6.  But  l^e  evils  arising  from  excessive  or  ill-timed  exercise 
of  the  brain  are  also  numerous,  and  equally  in  accordance  with 
the  ordinary  laws  of  physiology.  When  we  use  the  eye  too 
long,  or  in  too  bright  a  light,  it  becomes  bloodshot ;  and  if  we 
continue  to  look  intently,  the  irritation  at  length  becomes 
permanent,  and  disease,  followed  by  weakness  of  sight,  or 
even  blindness,  may  ensue.  Phenomena  precisely  analogous* 
occur  when,  from  intense  mental  excitement,  the  brain  is  kept 
long  in  excessive  activity.  We  learn  this  from  occasional 
cases  in  which,  from  some  external  injury,  the  brain  has  been 
so  exposed  that  its  action  has  been  seen. 

7.  Sir  Astley  Cooper  had  a  young  gentleman  brought  to 
him  who  had  lost  a  portion  of  his  skull  just  above  the  eye- 
brow. "  On  examining  the  head,"  says  Sir  Astley,  "  I  dis- 
tinctly saw  the  pulsation  of  the  brain  was  regular  and  slow ; 
but  at  this  time  he  was  agitated  by  some  opposition  to  his 
wishes,  and  directly  the  blood  was  sent  with  increased  force 
to  the  brain,  and  the  pulsation  became  frequent  and  violent." 
Who  does  not  know  that  when  one  is  moderately  flushed 
and  heated  in  debate  his  mind  works  more  freely  and  power- 
fully than  at  any  other  time^  ?  And  why^  ?  Because  then 
his  brain  has  a  healthy  activity,  occasioned  by  an  abundant 
supply  of  its  natural  stimulus.  But  let  the  excitement  run 
too  high,  and  too  much  blood  be  sent  to  the  brain,  and  giddi- 
ness will  ensue,  threatening  apoplexy ;  or  the  brain  may  be 
overstrained,  the  same  as  an  arm,  and  the  consequence  be 
permanent  mental  debility. 

1  €oN-GE8'-TiON,  too  great  an  accumulation]     ducing  loss  of  sense  and  voluntary  mo- 
of  blood.  tion. 

2  Ap'-o-plex-y,  a  disorder  of  the  brain  pro- 3  C6m'-pe-ten-ct,  a  sufficiency  of  property. 

K  A-nal'-o-gou8,  like  ;  similar. 


LESSON  XIX. — ^THE  foot's  complaint. 

1.  "It's  really  too  bad,"  cried  the  Foot  in  a  fever, 
"That  I  am  thus  walking  and  walking  forever: 
My  mates  are  to  honor  and  indolence  thrust, 
While  here  I  am  doomed  to  the  mud  and  the  dust. 

2.  "There's  the  MoiJth— he's  the  fellow  for  all  the  nice  things. 
And  the  Ear  only  wakes  when  the  dinner-bell  rings ; 

The  Hand  with  his  rings  decks  his  fingers  so  white ; 
And  as  to  the  Eye — he  sees  every  fine  sight." 

3.  "  Stay,  stay,"  said  the  Mouth  ;   "  don't  you  know,  my  dear  brother, 
We  all  were  intended  to  help  one  another'  ? 

And  surely  you  can't  be  thought  useless  and  mean, 
On  whom  all  the  rest  so  entirely  must  lean'. 


128  WILLSON's   fifth  reader.  Part  III. 

4.  ' '  Consider*,  my  friend',  we  are  laboring  too\  , 
And  toiling — nay,  don't  interrupt  me — for  you' ; 
Indeed,  were  it  not  for  the  Hand,  Mouth,  and  Eye, 

Of  course,  you  know  well,  you  would  falter  and  die. 

5.  "I  eat,  but  'tis  only  that  you  may  be  strong ; 

The  Hand  works  for  you\  friend',  all  the  day  long' ; 
And  the  Eye — he  declares  he  shall  soon  lose  his  sight, 
So  great  are  his  efforts  to  guide  you  aright." 

C.  The  Foot,  in  reply,  could  find  nothing  to  say, 
For  he  felt  he  had  talked  in  a  culpable  way. 
And  owned  the  reproof  was  both  wise  and  well-meant — 
For,  wherever  we  are,  we  should  there  be  content. 

Anonymous, 


LESSON   XX. — RULES  FOR  MENTAL  EXERCISE. 

1.  At  any  time  of  life  excessive  and  long-continued  mental  exertion  is 
hurtful,  but  especially  in  infancy  and  early  youth,  when  the  structure  of  the 
brain  is  still  immature  and  delicate. 

2.  While  the  healthy  and  backward  boy  may,  without  danger,  be  stimu- 
lated to  mental  exertion,  the  delicate  and  precocious  child  needs  constant 
mental  restraint,  and  much  out-door  exercise. 

3.  Cheerful  feelings,  as  they  exert  an  enlivening  influence  over  the  whole 
system,  conduce  greatly  to  a  healthy  activity  of  the  brain,  and  increase  its 
power  for  exertion. 

4.  The  growing  child  requires  more  sleep  than  the  adult ;  and  the  close 
student  more  than  the  idler.  In  proportion  as  mental  excitement  is  opposed 
to  sleep,  it  exhausts  the  body. 

5.  The  length  of  time  the  brain  may  be  safely  used  is  modified  by  many 
circumstances,  such  as  those  of  age,  mental  habits,  health  of  the  brain,  and 
health  of  the  system.  If  the  brain  has  long  been  habituated  to  profound 
study,  it  will  not  be  so  soon  fatigued  as  when  its  habits  have  been  indolent. 

6.  The  brain  finds  relief  from  exhaustion  in  frequent  change  of  studies 
and  occupation.  The  early  part  of  the  day,  when  the  exhausted  energies 
of  body  and  mind  have  been  restored  by  repose,  is  the  best  time  for  study. 

7.  As  quiet  of  the  brain  is  essential  to  quiet  sleep',  active  study  should 
cease  some  time  before  retiring  to  rest. 

8.  We  should  not  enter  upon  continued  mental  exertion',  or  arouse  deep 
feeling,  immediately  before  or  after  violent  muscular  exercise. 

9.  Moderate  mental  exertion  is  more  necessary  in  old  age  than  in  mature 
years.  In  middle  life,  while  the  body  is  gaining  strength,  the  exhaustion 
of  the  brain  from  overexcitement  may  be  repaired  ;  hut  no  such  result  fol- 
lows overexertion  in  the  decline  of  life.  The  current  history  of  the  day 
furnishes  numerous  sad  examples  of  premature  death  from  overtasked  brains 
at  an  advanced  period  of  life. 

10.  The  ])hysical,  intellectual,  and  moral  faculties  should  receive,  daily, 
their  approj)riatc  share  of  culture,  tliat  i\\\  may  grow  in  harmony  together. 
Just  in  pro])ortion  as  mind  is  cultivated  in  some  one  direction  only,  the  re- 
sult is  that  species  of  monomania  which  we  see  in  7«r7j  of  one  idea ;  and  when 
the  i)hysical  alone  is  cultivated,  we  have  the  mere  bully  or  bravado. 

11.  When  the  f)rain  is  overcharged  with  blood,  as  often  occurs  from  too 


2d  Dir.  OF.  .  .  HUMAN    PHYSIOLOGY    AND    HEALTH.  ]  29 

great  mental  exertion,  or  from  disease  or  accident,  the  most  ready  and  safe 
means  of  relief  is  to  make  warm  applications  to  the  feet  and  hands,  which 
will  tend  to  draw  the  blood  from  the  brain  to  the  extremities. 

12.  Exercise  is  as  natural  to  the  mind  as  to  the  body ;  hence  all  healthy 
children  delight  in  constant  mental  occupation ;  and  if  they  can  not  obtain 
it  in  judicious  mental  culture  and  honest  employment,  they  will  be  apt  to 
seek  it  in  the  haunts  of  dissipation,  and  perhaps  in  those  of  crime.  It  is  a 
physiological  as  well  as  a  moral  truth,  that  "Idleness  is  the  parent  of  vice ;" 
and  it  is  no  less  the  teaching  of  physiology  than  of  experience,  that,  if  we 
will  not  educate  the  ignorant,  we  may  expect  to  support  them  as  paupers  or 
criminals.   • 


LESSON   XXI. ADVICE   TO    A   HARD    STUDENT. 

"  Seek  variety  iu  recreation  and  study." 

1.  Still  vary  thy  incessant  task. 

Nor  plod  each  weary  day. 
As  if  thy  life  were  thing  of  earth — 

A  servant  to  its  clay. 
Alternate'  with  thy  honest  work 

Some  contemplations  high^ : 
Though  toil  be  just',  though  gold'  be  good'. 

Look  upward'  to  the  sky\ 

2.  Take  pleasure  for  thy  limbs  at  morn' ; 

At  noontide  wield  the  pen' ; 
Converse  to-night  with  moon  and  stars' ; 

To-morrow'  talk  with  men.' 
Cull  garlands  in  the  fields  and  bowers, 

Or  toy  with  running  brooks ; 
Then  rifle^  in  thy  chamber  lone 

The  honey  of  thy  books. 

3.  If  in  the  wrestlings  of  the  mind 

A  gladiator  strong'. 
Give  scope  and  freedom  to  thy  thought — 

But  strive  not  over  long. 
Climb  to  the  mountain-top  serene, 

And  let  life's  surges  beat. 
With  all  their  whirl  of  striving  men, 

Far,  far  beneath  thy  feet. 

4.  But  stay  not  ever  on  the  height, 

Mid  intellectual  snow ; 
Come  down  betimes  to  tread  the  grass. 

And  roam  where  waters  flow  ; 
Come  down  betimes  to  rub  thy  hands 

At  the  domestic  hearth'  ;^ 
Come  down  to  share  the  warmth  of  love', 

And  join  the  children's  mirth'. 

.*>.  Let  love  of  books',  and  love  of  fields', 
And  love  of  men  combine 
F2 


130  willson's  fifth  reader.  PartIIT. 

To  feed  in  turns  thy  mental  life, 

And  fan  its  flame  divine* ; 

,  Let  outer  frame,  and  inner  soul', 

Maintain  a  balance  true\ 

Till  every  string  on  Being's  lyre 

Give  forth  its  music  due. — Cuables  Mackay. 

^  Aiy-TKB'-NATBr   or   al'-teb-nate,   to    cx-js  Heabth  (htirth).    This  is  the  approved 
change;  perform  by  turns.  pronunciation,  although  the  writer,  above, 

2  RI'-j-LB,  seize  and  bear  away.  |    makes  it  riiyme  with  mirth. 


LESSON   XXn. — NEGLECT   OF  HEALTH. 

Samuel  Johnson. 

1.  There  is  among  the  fragments  of  the  Greek  poets  a 
short  hymn  to  Health,  in  which  her  power  of  exalting  the 
happiness  of  life,  of  heightening  the  gifts  of  fortmie,  and  add- 
ing enjoyment  to  possession,  is  inculcated  with  so  much  force 
and  beauty  that  no  one,  who  has  ever  languished  under  the 
discomforts  and  infirmities  of  a  lingering  disease,  can  read  it 
without  feeling  the  images  dance  in  his  heart,  and  adding, 
from  his  own  experience,  new  vigor  to  the  wish,  and  from  his 
own  imagination  new  colors  to  the  picture.  The  particular 
occasion  of  this  little  composition  is  not  known,  but  it  is  prob- 
able that  the  author  had  been  sick,  and  in  the  first  raptures 
of  returning  vigor  addressed  Health  in  the  following  manner : 

2.  "Health,  most  venerable  of  the  powers  of  heaven!  with 
thee  may  the  remaining  part  of  my  life  be  passed,  nor  do  thou 
refuse  to  bless  me  with  thy  residence.  For  whatever  there 
is  of  beauty  or  of  pleasure  in  wealth,  in  descendants,  or  in 
sovereign  command,  the  highest  summit  of  human  enjoyment, 
or  in  those  objects  of  human  desire  which  we  endeavor  to 
chase  into  the  toils  of  love ;  whatever  delight,  or  whatever 
solace  is  granted  by  these  celestials,  to  soften  our  fatigues,  in 
thy  presence,  thou  parent'  of  happiness,  all  those  joys  spread 
out,  and  flourish ;  in  thy  presence  blooms  the  spring  of  pleas- 
ure, and  without  thee  no  man  is  happy." 

3.  Such  is  the  power  of  health,  that  without  its  co-opera- 
tion every  other  comfort  is  torpid  and  lifeless,  as  the  powers 
of  vegetation  without  the  sun.  And  yet  this  bliss  is  often 
thrown  away  in  thoughtless  negligence,  or  in  foolish  experi- 
ments on  our  own  strength ;  we  let  it  perish  without  remem- 
bering its  value,  or  waste  it  to  show  how  much  we  have  to 
spare ;  it  is  sometimes  given  up  to  the  management  of  levity 
and  chance,  and  sometimes  sold  for  the  applause  of  jollity  and 
debauchery. 


2d  Drv.  OF  .  .  .  HUMAN   PHYSIOLOGY    AND    HEALTH.  131 

4.  Health  is  equally  neglected,  and  with  equal  impropriety, 
by  the  votaries  of  business  and  the  followers  of  pleasure.  Some 
men  ruin  the  fabric  pf  their  bodies  by  incessant  revels,  and 
others  by  intemperate  studies ;  some  batter  it  by  excess,  and 
others  sap  it  by  inactivity.  Yet  it  requires  no  great  ability 
to  prove  that  he  loses  pleasure  who  loses  health ;  and  that 
health  is  certainly  of  more  value  than  money,  because  it  is  by 
health  that  money  is  procured,  and  by  health  alone  that  money 
is  enjoyedl  • 

5.  Nor  love,  nor  honor,  wealth,  nor  power, 
Can  give  the  heart  a  cheerful  hour 
When  health  is  lost.     Be  timely  wise ; 
With  health  all  taste  of  pleasure  flies.— Gat. 

6.  Ah  I  what  avail  the  largest  gifts  of  Heaven, 
When  drooping  health  and  spirits  go  amiss? 
How  tasteless  then  whatever  can  be  given  1 
Health  is  the  vital  principle  of  bliss. 

And  exercise  of  health.    In  proof  of  this. 
Behold  the  wretch  who  slugs  his  life  aways, 
Soon  swallowed  in  disease's  sad  abyss, 
^While  he  whom  toil  has  braced,  or  manly  play, 
Has  light  as  air  each  limb,  each  thought  as  clear  as  day.- 

7.  Oh,  who  can  speak  the  vigorous  joy  of  health — 
Unclogged  the  body,  unobscured  the  mind^  ? 
The  morning  rises  gay,  with  pleasing  stealth, 
The  temperate  evening  falls  serene  and  kind. 

In  health  the  wiser  brutes  true  gladness  find.  ^ 

See  !  how  the  younglings  frisk  along  the  meads, 

As  May  comes  on  and  wakes  the  balmy  wind  ; 

Rampant  with  life,  their  joy  all  joy  exceeds  : 

Yet  what  but  high-strung  health  this  dancing  pleasure  breeds. — Thomson. 

8.  Health  is  indeed  so  necessary  to  all  the  duties,  as  well  as 
pleasures  of  life,  that  the  crime  of  squandering  it  is  equal  t© 
the  folly ;  and  he  that  for  a  short  gratification  brings  weak- 
ness and  diseases  upon  himself,  and  for  the  pleasure  of  a  few 
years  passed  in  the  tumults  of  diversion  and  clamors  of  mer- 
riment condemns  the  maturer  and  more  experienced  part  of 
his  life  to  the  chamber  and  couch,  may  be  justly  reproached, 
not  only  as  a  spendthrift  of  his  own  happiness,  but  as  a  rob- 
ber of  the  public — as  a  wretch  that  has  voluntarily  disqualified 
himself  for  the  business  of  his  station,  and  refused  that  part 
which  Providence  assigns  him  in  the  general  task  of  human 
nature. 


THIED  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 


LESSON   I. — THE  VILLAGE   SCHOOL   OF   OLDEX  TIME. 

[The  reading  of  this  inimitftWo  piece  of  description,  in  which  the  most  delicate  satire  U 
conveyed  under  tlie  ^uise  of  profound  admiration,  requires,  especially  iu  the  third  verse, 
the  ironical  tone  of  mock  laudation  and  respect.] 

1.  Beside  yon  straRglin^;  fence  tliat  skirts  the  way 
With  l)lossom'd  furze'  nnj)rofitahly  gay — 
There',  in  his  noisy  mansion',  skill'd  to  rule', 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  schooP.        • 

2.  A  man  severe  he  was\  and  stern  to  viow^ ; 
I  knew  him  wcfilpbnd  every  truant  kne^^'': 


THIRD   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  133 

Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face^ ; 
Full  well  they  laugh'd,  with  counterfeited  glee, 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he^ : 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper,  circling  round, 
Convey'd  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frown'd^ : 
Yet  he  was  kind',  or  if  severe  in  aught', 
The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault\ 

3.  The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew ; 
'Twas  certain^  he  could  write',  and  cipher^  too ; 
Lands  he  could  measure^  terms^  and  tides  presage'  ;* 
And  e'en  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge" ^ 
In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  own'd  his  skill. 
For  e'en  though  vanquished  he  could  argue  stiir ; 
While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around — 
And  still  they  gazed',  and  still  the  wonder  grew'. 
That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew. 

Goldsmith. 

Ftthze,  a  beautiful  evergreen  shrub,  with  3  Pee-sagb',  foreshow ;  predict. 

biilliant  yellow  flowers,  abundant  on  the  *  Gauge  (^cij)-,  to  measure  the  contents  of 

English  commons.  cask,  barrel,  or  other  vessel. 

Tebmb,  probably  here  refemng  to  the  terms 

or  tivma  when  the  courts  were  to  be  held. 


LESSON    n. THE   RIGHTEOUS   NEVER  FORSAKEN. 

1.  It  was  Saturday  night,  and  the  widow  of  the  Pine  Cot- 
tage sat  by  her  blazing  fagots,  with  her  five  tattered  children 
at  her  side,  endeavoring,  by  listening  to  the  artlessness  of  their 
prattle,  to  dissipate  the  heavy  gloom  that  pressed  upon  her 
mind.  For  a  year,  her  own  feeble  hands  had  provided  for 
her  helpless  family,  for  she  had  no  supporter,  no  friend  to 
whom  to  apply,  in  all  the  wide,  unfriendly  world  around. 
That  mysterious  Providence,  the  wisdom  of  whose  ways  is 
above  human  comprehension,  had  visited  her  with  wasting 
sickness,  and  her  little  means  had  become  exhausted.  It  was 
now,  too,  mid-winter,  and  the  snow  lay  heavy  and  deep  through 
all  the  surrounding  forests,  while  storms  still  seemed  gather- 
ing in  the  heavens,  and  the  driving  wind  roared  amid  the 
bounding  pines,  and  rocked  her  puny  mansion. 

2.  The  last  herring  smoked  upon  the  coals  before  her ;  it 
was  the  only  article  of  food  she  possessed,  and  no  wonder  her 
forlorn,  desolate  state  brought  up  in  her  lone  bosom  all  the 
anxieties  of  a  mother,  when  she  looked  upon  her  children ; 
and  no  wonder,  forlorn  as  she  was,  if  she  suffered  the  heart- 
swellings  of  despair  to  rise,  even  though  she  knew  that  He 
whose  promise  is  to  the  widow  and  to  the  orphan  can  not  for- 


134 

get  his  word.  Providence  had  many  years  before  taken  from 
her  her  eldest  son,  who  went  from  his  forest  home  to  try  his 
fortune  on  the  high  seas,  since  which  she  had  heard  no  note 
or  tidings  of  him ;  and  in  latter  time,  by  the  hand  of  death,  she 
had  been  deprived  of  the  companion  and  staff  of  her  earthly 
pilgrimage  in  the  person  of  her  husband.  Yet  to  this  hour 
she  had  been  upborne ;  she  had  not  only  been  able  to  provide 
for  her  little  flock,  but  had  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  min- 
istering to  the  wants  of  the  miserable  and  destitute. 

3.  The  indolent  may  well  bear  with  poverty  while  the  abil- 
ity to  gain  sustenance  remains.  The  individual  who  has  but 
his  own  wants  to  supply  may  suffer  with  fortitude  the  winter 
of  want ;  his  aftections  are  not  wounded,  his  heart  not  wrung. 
The  most  desolate  in  populous  cities  may  hope,  for  charity  has 
not  quite  closed  her  hand  and  heart,  and  shut  her  eyes  on  mis- 
ery. But  the  industrious  mother  of  helpless  and  depending 
children,  far  from  the  reach  of  human  charity,  has  none  of 
these  to  console  her.  And  such  a  one  was  the  widow  of  the 
Pine  Cottage ;  but  as  she  bent  over  the  fire,  and  took  up  the 
last  scanty  remnant  of  food  to  spread  before  her  children,  her 
spirits  seemed  to  brighten  up,  as  by  some  sudden  and  myste- 
rious impulse,  and  Cowper's  beautiful  lines  came  imcalled 
across  her  mind : 

"Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense, 
But  trust  him  for  his  grace ; 
Behind  a  frowning  I'rovidenco 
lie  hides  a  smiling  face." 

4.  The  smoked  herring  was  scarcely  laid  upon  the  table 
when  a  gentle  rap  at  the  door,  and  loud  barking  of  a  dog,  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  family.  The  children  flew  to  open 
it,  and  a  weary  traveler,  in  tattered  garments,  and  apparently 
indifferent  health,  entered  and  begged  a  lodging  and  a  mouth- 
ful of  food ;  said  he, "  it  is  now  twenty-four  hours  since  I  have 
tasted  bread."  The  widow's  heart  bled  anew  as  under  a  fresh 
complication  of  distresses ;  for  her  sympathies  lingered  not 
round  her  fireside.  She  hesitated  not,  even  now ;  rest,  and 
share  of  all  she  had,  she  proffered  to  the  stranger.  "  We  shall 
not  be  forsaken,"  said  she,  "  or  suffer  deeper  for  an  act  of 
charity." 

5.  The  traveler  drew  near  the  board ;  but  when  he  saw  the 
scanty  fare,  he  raised  his  eyes  toward  Heaven  with  astonish- 
ment, "And  is  this  all  your  store  ?"  said  he ;  "  and  a  share  of 
this  do  you  offer  to  one  you  know  not?  then  never  saw  I 
charity  before !  But,  madam,"  said  he,  continuing,  "  do  you 
not  wrong  your  children  by  giving  a  part  of  your  last  mouth- 


THIRD   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  135 

ful  to  a  stranger  ?"  "  Ah !"  said  the  poor  widow,  and  the  tear- 
drops gushed  into  her  eyes  as  she  said  it,  "  I  have  a  hoy^  a 
darling  sow,  somewhere  on  the  face  of  the  wide  world,  unless 
Heaven  has  taken  him  away,  and  I  only  act  toward  you  as  I 
would  that  others  should  act  toward  him\  God,  who  sent 
manna  from  heaven,  can  provide  for  us  as  he  did  for  Israel ; 
and  how  should  I  this  night  offend  Him,  if  my  son  should  be  a" 
wanderer,  destitute  as  you,  and  he  should  have  provided  for 
him  a  home,  even  poor  as  this,  were  I  to  turn  you  unrelieved 
away." 

6.  The  widow  ended,  and  the  stranger,  springing  from  his 
seat,  clasped  her  in  his  arms :  "  God  indeed  has  provided  your 
son  a  home,  and  has  given  him  wealth  to  reward  the  good- 
ness of  his  benefactress — my  mother^ !  oh,  my  mother^ !" 

7.  It  was  her  long-lost  son,  returned  to  her  bosom  from  the 
Indies.  He  had  chosen  that  disguise  that  he  might  the  i&ore 
completely  surprise  his  family ;  and  never  was  surprise  more 
perfect,  or  followed  by  a  sweeter  cup  of  joy.  That  humble 
residence  in  the  forest  was  exchanged  for  one  comfortable, 
and  indeed  beautiful,  in  the  valley ;  and  the  widow  lived  long 
with  her  dutiful  son,  in  the  enjoyment  of  worldly  plenty,  and 
in  the  delightful  employments  of  virtue ;  and  at  this  day  the 
passer-by  is  pointed  to  the  willow  that  spreads  its  branches 
above  her  grave. — New  YorJc  Spectator, 


LESSON"   HI. THE  FAMILY   MEETING. 

[The  reading  of  tliis  piece  requires  a  slow  delivery,  with  much  pathetic  tenderness.] 

1 .  We  are  all"  here^ ! 
Father',  mother',  sister',  brother,  ^ 

All  who  hold  each  other  dear. 
Each  chair  is  fiU'd^ :  we're  all"  at  home": 
To-night,  let  no  cold  stranger  come^ : . 
It  is  not  often^  thus'  around 
Our  old  familiar  hearth  we're  found^ : 
Bless  then  the  meeting  and  the  spot^ ; 
For  once',  be  every  care  forgot^ ; 
Let  gentle  Peace  assert  her  power, 
And  kind  Affection  rule  the  hour^ ; 
"We're  all' — all'  here, 

2.  We're  nof  all  here ! 
Some  are  away^ — the  dead^  ones  dear, 
Who  throng'd  with  us  this  ancient  hearth, 
And  gave  the  hour  to  guiltless  mirth. 
Fate,  with  a  stem  relentless  hand, 
Look'd  in  and  thinn'd  our  little  band' : 


136  willson's  fifth  reader. 

Some',  like  a  night-flash,  pass'd  away\ 
And  some'  sank  lingering  day  by  day' ; 
The  quiet  grave-yard' — some'  lie  there' — 
And  cruel  Ocean  has  his^  share  : 
We're  not''  all  here. 

3.  We  are'  all  here ! 

Even  Mey\  the  dead^ — though  dead',  so  dear, 
Fond  Memory,  to  her  duty  true, 
Brings  back  their^  faded  forms  to  view. 
How  life-like  through  the  mist  of  years, 
Each  well-remember'd  face  appears^ ! 
We  see  them  as  in  times  long  past. 
From  each  to  tfach  kind  looks  are  cast ; 
We  hear  their  words\  their  smiles'  behold. 
They're  round  us',  as  they  were  of  old^ — 
We  are'  all  here ! 

4.  We  are  all  here^ ! 
Father',  mother',  sister',  brother^ 

You  that  I  love  with  love  so  dear\ 
This  may  not  long  of  us  be  said ; 
Soon  must  we  join  the  gather'd  dead, 
And  by  the  hearth  we  now  sit  round, 
Some  other  circle  will  be  found. 
,  Oh !  then,  that  wisdom  may  we  know, 

Which  yields  a  life  of  peace  below  : 
So,  in  the  world  to  follow  this, 
May  each  repeat,  in  words  of  bliss. 
We're  all'— all'— here' ! 

Charles  Spraguk. 


LESSON   IV. TACT  AND  TALENT. 

[This  Le-8on  furnishes  fine  examples  of  contrasted  or  antithetic  clauae?,  for  the  reading 
of  which  see  Kule  VT.,  and  also  what  is  caid  on  the  t»ame  subject  on  page  'il.  It  alao  fur- 
nishes several  fine  examples  of  conclxiding  series^  etc     See  page  15.] 

1.  Talent'  is  something',  but  tact^  is  every ^  thing.  Talent' 
is  serious\  sober\  grave',  and  respectable^ :  tact'  is  all  that\ 
and  more  too\  It  is  not  a  sixth  sense',  but  it  is  the  life  of  all 
the  five\  It  is  the  open  cye\  the  quick  ear\  the  judging  taste\ 
the  keen  smell',  and  the  lively  touch^ ;  it  is  the  interpreter  of 
all  riddlcs\  the  surmounter  of  all  difficulties',  the  remover  of 
all  obstacles\  It  is  useful  in  all  places',  and  at  all  times^ ;  it 
is  useful  in  solitude\  for  it  shows  a  man  his  way  ifito^  the 
world ;  it  is  useful  in  society^  for  it  shows  him  liis  way 
througW  the  world. 

2.  Talent'  is  power\  tact^  is  skilP ;  talent'  is  weight\  tacC 
is  momentum^ ;  taloit'  knows  ichaC  to  do,  tacC  knows  fioro'' 
to  do  it ;  talent'  makes  a  man  respectable\  tact^  will  make 


THIED   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  ISV 

him  respected^ ;  talent'  is  wealth\  tact^  is  ready  money/  For 
all  the  practical  purposes  of  life',  tact  carries  it  against  talent, 
ten  to  one.  Take  them  to  the  theatre\  and  put  them  against 
each  other  on  the  stage\  and  talent'  shall  produce  you  a  trag- 
edy that  will  scarcely  live  long  enough  to  be  condemned\  while 
tact^  keeps  the  house  in  a  roar,  night  after  night,  with  its  suc- 
cessful arces.  There  is  no  want  of  dramatic  talent\  there  is 
no  want  of  dramatic  tact^ ;  but  they  are  seldom  together^ :  so 
we  have  successful  pieces  which  are  not  respectable',  and  re- 
spectable pieces  which  are  not  successful\ 

3.  Take  them  to  the  bar,  and  let  them  shake  their  learned 
curls  at  each  other  in  legal  rivalry ;  talent'  sees  its  way  clear- 
ly, but  tact^  is  first  at  its  journey's  end.  Talent'  has  many  a 
compliment  from  the  bench,  but  tact^  touches  fees  from  attor- 
neys and  clients.  Talent'  speaks  learnedly  and  logically,  tact^ 
triumphantly.  Talent'  makes  the  world  wonder  that  it  gets 
on  no  faster,  tact^  excites  astonishment  that  it  gets  on  so  fast. 
And  the  secret  is,  that  it  has  no  weight^  to  carry ;  it  makes 
no  false  steps^ ;  it  hits  the  right  nail  on  the  head^ ;  it  loses  no 
time^ ;  it  takes  all  hints^ ;  and  by  keeping  its  eye  on  the 
weathercock',  is  ready  to  take  advantage  of  every  wind  that 
blows\  Take  them  into  the  church.  Talent'  has  ahvays 
something  worth  hearing^  tact^  is  sure  of  abundance^  of  hear- 
ers ;  talent'  may  obtain  a  living,  tact^  will  make  one ;  talent' 
gets  a  good  name,  tact^  a  great  one ;  talent'  convinces^  tact^ 
converts^ ;  talent'  is  an  honor  to"  the  profession,  tact^  gains 
honor /rom^  the  profession. 

4.  Take  them  to  court.  Talent'  feels  its  weighty  tact^  finds 
its  way^ ;  talent'  commands^  tact^  is  obeyed^ ;  talent'  is  hon- 
ored with  approbation\  and  tact^  is  blessed  by  preferment\ 
Place  them  in  the  senate.  Talent'  has  the  ear  of  the  house\ 
but  tact^  wins'  its  heart\  and  has'  its  votes^ ;  talent'  is  fit  for 
employment\  but  tact^  is  fitted  for^  it.  It  has  a  knack  of  slip- 
ping into  place  with  a  sweet  silence  and  glibness  of  move- 
ment," as  a  billiard  ball  insinuates  itself  into  the  pocket.  It 
seems  to  know  every  thing',  without  learning  any^  thing.  It 
has  served  an  invisible  and  extemporary  apprenticeship^ ;  it 
wants  no  drilling^ ;  it  never  ranks  in  the  awkward  squad^ ;  it 
has  no  left  hand',  no-deaf  ear',  no  blind  side\  It  puts  on  no 
looks  of  wondrous  wisdom\  it  has  no  air  of  profundity^  but 
plays  with  the  details  of  place  as  dexterously  as  a  well-taught 
hand  flourishes  over  the  keys  of  the  piano-forte.  It  has  all 
the  air  of  commonplace,'  and  all,  the  force  and  power  of  gen- 
ius.— Ijondon  Atlas. 


138  willson's  fifth  readeb. 


LESSON"  V. — RATNT  UPON  THE  EOOF. 

[The  following  beautiful  lines  require  great  tenderness  and  delicacy  of  expression  in  the 
reading,  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  tender  and  subdued  feeling  which  the  scene  reiresent- 
ed  is  BO  well  calculated  to  pro<luce.J 

1.  When  the  humid  storm-clouds  gather 

Over  all  the  starry  spheres', 
And  the  melancholy  darkness 

Gently  weeps  in  rainy  tears', 
'Tis  a  joy  to  press  the  pillow 

Of  a  cottage-chamber  bed\ 
And  to  listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  soft  rain  over  head. 

•  2.  Every  tinkle  on  the  shingles' 

Has  an  echo  in  the  heart\ 
And  a  thousand  lively  fancies' 

Into  busy  being  start^ ; 
And  a  thousand  recollections 

Weave  their  bright  hues  into  woof, 
As  I  listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  rain  upon  the  roof. 

3.  There,  in  fancy,  comes  my  mother, 

As  she  used  to,  years  agone. 
To  suiTey  the  infant  sleepers. 

Ere  she  left  them  till  the  dawn. 
I  can  see  her  bending  o'er  me. 

As  I  listen  to  the  strain 
Which  is  played  upon  the  shingles 

By  the  patter  of  the  rain. 

4.  Then  my  little  seraph  sister\ 

With  her  wings  and  waving  hair'. 
And  her  bright-eyed  cherub  brother', 

A  serene,  angelic  pair', 
Glide  around  my  wakeful  pillow. 

With  their  praise  or  mild  reproof. 
As  I  listen  to  the  murmur 

Of  the  soft  rain  on  the  roof. 

5.  There  is  naught  in  art's  bravuros^ 

That  can  work  with  such  a  spell. 
In  the  spirit's  pure,  deep  fountains. 

Whence  the  holy  passions  swell, 
As  that  melody  of  nnture\ 

That  subdued,  subduing  strain\ 
Which  is  played  upon  the  shingles' 

By  the  patter  of  the  rain\ 

Anoni/mous. 

>  Bba-vC'-ra,  a  spirited,  brilliant  pong  or  air,  for  the  diaplay  of  execution. 


THIRD   MISCELLANEOUS    DIVISION.  139 


LESSOlSr   VI.— GOOD   ADVICE^ 

1.  A  CERTAIN  khan  of  Tartary,  traveling  with  his  nobles, 
was  met  by  a  dervis,  who  cried,  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Whoever 
will  give  me  a  hundred  pieces  of  gold,  I  will  give  him  a  piece 
of  advice."  The  khan  ordered  the  sum  to  be  given  to  him, 
upon  which  the  dervis  said,  "  Begin  nothing  of  which  thou 
hast  not  well  considered  the  endP  The  courtiers,  hearing  this 
plain  sentence,  smiled,  and  said,  with  a  sneer,  "  The  dervis  is 
well  paid  for  his  maxim."  But  the  khan  was  so  well  pleased 
with  the  answer,  that  he  ordered  it  to  be  written  in  golden 
letters  in  several  parts  of  his  palace,  and  engraved  on  all  his 
plate. 

2.  iNTot  long  after,  the  khan's  surgeon  was  bribed  to  kill 
him  with  a  poisoned  lancet,  at  the  time  he  bled  him.  One 
day,  when  the  khan's  arm  was  bound,  and  the  fatal  lancet  in 
the  hand  of  the  surgeon,  the  latter  read  on  the  basin,  '•'•Begin 
nothing  of  which  thou  hast  not  loell  considered  the  end.''''  He 
immediately  started,  and  let  the  lancet  fall  out  of  his  hand. 
The  khan,  observing  his  confusion,  inquired  the  reason ;  the 
surgeon  fell  prostrate,  confessed  the  whole  affair,  and  was  par- 
doned ;  but  the  conspirators  were  put  to  death.  The  khan, 
turning  to  his  courtiers,  who  had  heard  the  advice  with  dis- 
dain, told  them  that  the  counsel  could  not  be  too  highly  val- 
ued which  had  saved  a  khan's  life. 


LESSON"    Vll. TRUE  KNOWLEDGE. 

What  is  true  knowledge'  ?     Is  it  with  keen  eye 

Of  lucre's  sons  to  thread  the  mazy  way'  ? 

Is  it  of  civic  rights,  and  royal  sway, 
And  wealth  political,  the  depths  to  try'  ? 
Is  it  to  delve  the  earth,  or  soar  the  sky' ; 

To  mix,  and  analyze,  and  mete,  and  weigh 
Her  elements,  and  all  her  powers  descry'  ? 
These  things',  who  will  may  know^  them,  if  to  know' 

Breed  not  vain-glory^ :  but  o'er  all  to  scan 
God,  in  his  works  and  word  shown  forth  below — 

Creation's  wonders,  and  Redemption's  plan. 
Whence  came  we,  what  to  do,  and  whither  go — 

This  is  true''  knowledge^  and  the  "whole  of  man." 

Bishop  Mant, 


140 


willson's  fifth  keadkk. 


'akt  IV 


PART  IV. 

SECOND  DIVISION  OF  BOTANY. 

[This  subject  is  continued  from  the  Foiuth  Reader  ] 


LESSON   I. — THE   STUDY   OF   BOTANY. 

Lo !  when  the  buds  expand,  the  leaves  are  green, 
Then  the  first  opening  of  the  flower  is  seen ; 
Then  come  the  humid  breath  and  rosy  emile, 
That  with  their  sweets  the  willing  sense  beguile  ; 
But  as  we  look,  and  love,  and  taste,  and  praise. 


And  the  fruit  groM^Blhe  charming  flower  decay 
Till  all  is  gathered^Ko  the  wintry  blast 
Mourns  o'er  the  place  of  love  and  pleasure  past.- 


-Cbabbr. 


2.  The  changes  described  by  the  poet  are  indeed  full  of  in- 
terest and  beauty,  from  the  time  when  "  the  buds  expand," 
and  "  the  leaves  are  green,"  till  the  once  bright  foliage  falls 
brown  and  withered  before  "  the  wintry  blast."  There  are 
few,  perhaps,  who  are  totally  insensible  to  these  changes  in 
their  general  manifestations ;  but  few,  too  few,  have  their 
minds  awakened  to  the  succession  of  beautiful  and  varied 
forms  which  year  by  year  adorn  our  fields  and  woods — nay, 
even  our  hedges  and  ditches ;  too  few  of  those  who  have  am- 
ple opportunity  and  leisure  know,  even  by  sight,  much  less  by 
name,  our  commonest  wild  flowers ;  and  yet  there  is  not  one 
of  these,  from  the  humblest  weed  that  grows,  that  will  not 
yield  abundant  scope  for  study — that  does  not  exhibit  perfec- 
tion and  beauty  of  stnicturo  that  tell  of  its  Divine  Creator. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OK   BOTANY.  141 

3.  Notliing,  perhaps,  astonishes  an  individual  move,  when 
commencing  the  search  for  and  study  of  our  uncultivated 
plants,  than  to  find,  even  in  the  most  commonplace  walk,  what 
an  immense  variety  of  different  kinds — species,  as  they  are 
called  botanically — he  has,  day  by  day,  trodden  under  foot, 
without  an  idea  of  their  existence.  Interest  succeeds  aston- 
ishment ;  he  finds  a  new  source  of  pleasure  opened  to  him,  and 
one  which  gives  not  only  pure  and  healthy  thoughts  to  the 
mind,  but  health  to  the  body,  by  affording  inducements  to 
exercise,  and  adding  to  the  latter  that  excitement  which  gives 
it  a  tenfold  value. 

4.  Few  pursuits  in  which  the  mind  can  engage  are  purer, 
or  have  more  tendency  to  afibrd  innocent  and  happy  thoughts, 
than  the  study  of  flowers  generally ;  and  though  it  may  be 
some  advantage  to  possess  gardens  and  conservatories^  well 
stocked  with  the  gorgeous  natives  of  other  climates,  the  mere 
contemplation  of  these  can  never  bring  half  the  pleasurable 
excitement  which  the  search  after  the  wild  plants  of  our  own 
country  affords  to  the  zealous  collector  and  student.  The 
former  are  the  privileges  of  the  rich,  the  latter  are  open  to 
the  poorest  in  the  land — 

"  A  blessing  given 
E'en  to  the  poorest  little  one  , 

That  wanders  'neath  the  vault  of  heaven." 

'  €oN-8EEv'-A-TO-ET,  a  gTeen-housc  for  exotic  (foreign)  plants. 


LESSON   II. CLASSIFICATION    OF   PLANTS. 

"  Tlie  Almighty  Maker  ha?,  throughout, 
Discriminated  each  from  each,  by  strokes 
And  touches  of  his  hand,  Avith  so  much  art 
Diversified,  that  two  were  never  found 
Twins  at  all  points." 

1.  Classification  in  botany  is  the  process  by  which  plants 
are  distributed  into  divisions,  classes,  genera  or  families,  spe- 
cies, and  varieties.  Dictionaries  are  so  arranged  that  a  per- 
son can  easily  find  any  word  in  the  language ;  and  in  a  man- 
ner somewhat  similar  he  can  find  a  description  of  any  known 
plant  in  a  botanical  dictionary  ov  flora.  The  number  of  dif- 
ferent kinds  or  species  of  plants  is  about  one  hundred  thou- 
sand, and  it  is  a  very  important  matter  to  arrange  them  in 
the  most  convenient  manner  for  reference. 

2.  It  will  occur  to  the  reader  that  plants  should  be  classi- 
fied by  their  resemblances;  and  it  may  seem  to  be  an  easy  task, 
thus  to  arrange  them  ;  but  those  who  have  attempted  it  have 


142  willson's  fifth  EEADEE.  Pakt  IV. 

encountered  many  difficulties.  Plants  that  at  first  sight  ap- 
pear very  much  alike  will  often  be  found  to  differ  widely ; 
and  those  which  seem  unlike  will  have  many  things  that  agree. 

3.  A  humming-bird,  flitting  from  flower  to  flower,  seems  to 
resemble  the  butterfly  of  variegated  wing ;  but  the  naturalist 
considers  the  humming-bird  more  like  an  elephant  than  a 
butterfly.  He  will  call  the  bird  and  elephant  vertebrate  ani- 
mals, and  will  show  a  striking  resemblance  between  the  skel- 
eton of  the  tiny  wing  of  the  one  and  the  huge  leg  of  the  other. 

4.  As  a  scientific  arrangement  of  plants  requires  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  form,  structure,  and  properties  of  a 
hundred  thousand  species,  we  can  well  understand  why  a  cor- 
rect classification  was  impossible  in  the  infancy  of  the  science. 
Some  early  writers  attempted  to  arrange  plants  according  to 
the  alphabetical  order  of  their  names ;  others  took  for  their 
guide  the  structure  of  their  roots ;  another  class  only  regarded 
the  form  of  the  leaves ;  while  others  considered  the  time  of 
flowering,  the  place  of  growth,  or  medicinal  properties.  Two 
hundred  years  ago  the  poet  Cowley  published  an  arrangement 
of  plants  founded  on  their  size  and  appearance.  Herbs,  flow- 
ers, and  trees  were  his  divisions ;  which  Hugh  Millfer.  has  said 
was  like  Buffon's  division  of  animals  into  wild  and  tame, 

5.  Many  methods  of  classification  have  been  proposed  with- 
in the  last  two  centuries,  but  they  have  gradually  given  place 
to  the  artificial  system  of  Linnaeus,  and  the  natural  method 
of  Jussieu.  The  former  divided  the  vegetable  world  into 
twxnty-four  classes,  by  characteristics  depending  on  the  num- 
ber, position,  length,  or  union  of  the  stamens ;  and  these  class- 
es he  then  subdivided  into  orders,  founded  mostly  on  pecul- 
iarities of  the  7:)^s^^7s.  A  synopsis  of  the  twenty-one  classes  in 
which  American  botanists  have  arranged  plants  on  the  Lin- 
na^an  method,  is  here  given.*  As  the  "  Natural  Method," 
however,  is  the  one  now  most  approved  by  botanists,  we  have 
adopted  that  arrangement  in  our  treatment  of  the  subject. 

6.  The  naming  and  classifying  of  plants  was  the  delightful 
task  of  Eve  in  Paradise,  according  to  Milton,  who  represents 
her  as  saying, 

"O,  flowers, 
Tlmt  never  will  in  other  olimato  kfow, 
My  earliest  viHitation,  niul  my  Inst 
At  eveu,  which  I  bred  up  with  tender  baud 

•  SVNOreiB   OF  THE  ARTIFIOIAL  OB  LINNAAN   8Y8TKM. 

Ah  the  11th,  18th,  nnd  23d  claspcs  of  T-innaMis  coniprife  but  few  penera  found  in  tho 
United  StateH,  and  thoce  variable  in  their  characters,  moat  American  botaniot^  have  dis- 
tributed them  among  the  other  classes,  an  arrangement  which  wc  have  adopted  in  this 
synopsis,  and  In  our  referenoes  to  the  Linnean  pyMtem.     See  next  page. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY. 


143 


From  the  first  opening  bud,  and  gave  ye  names  I 

Who  no\\^  shall  rear  ye  to  the  sun,  or  rank 

Your  tribes,  and  water  from  the  ambrosial  fount  ?" 


LESSOR   m. — NATURAL  METHOD   OF   CLASSinCATION. 

It  is  pleasant  to  note  all  plants,  from  the  rush  to  the  spreading  cedar. 
From  the  giant  king  of  palms  to  the  lichen  that  staineth  its  stem. — Tuppee. 

1.  The  primary  and  most  obvious  division  of  the  vegetable 
kingdom  is  into  two  great  series  or  classes,  flowering*  and 


First  Class,  Monandeia,  has  one 
stamen. 
Examples :  ginger,  arrow-root, 
samphire,  starwort,  etc. 
Second  Class,  Diandria,  has  two 
stamens. 
Ex.  :  lilac,  jessamine,  sage,  ca- 
talpa,  fringe-tree,  rosemaiy,  etc. 

Third  Class, TRiANDEiA,ha3  three 
stamens. 
Ex. :  gladiolus,  iris,  crocus,  mil- 
let, chess,  wheat,  etc. 

Fourth  Class,  Tetrandeia,  has 
four  stamens. 
Ex.  :    holly,  partridge-berry, 
Venus'  -pride,  teasel,  madder,  etc. 
Fifth  Class,  Pentandeia,  h&sfive 
stamens. 
Ex. :  potato,  mullein,  flax,  vio- 
let, four-o'clock,  comfrey,  etc. 

Sixth  Class,  Hexanbria,  has  six 
stamens. 
Ex. :    lily,  hyacinth,  jonquil, 
snow-drop,  spider-wort,  etc. 

Seventh  Class,  Heptandeia,  has 
seven  stamens. 
Ex. :  chick-wintergreen,  horse- 
chestnut,  little  buckeye,  etc. 
Eighth    Class,  Octanueia,  has 
eight  stamens. 
Ex.  :    cranberry,    nasturtion, 
buckwheat,  fuchsia,  maple,  etc. 
Ninth  Class,  Enneandeia,  has 
nine  stamens. 
Ex. :  sassafras,  rhubarb,  spice- 
bush,  erigonum,  etc. 
Tenth  Class,  Decandeia,  has  ten 
stamens. 
Ex. :  trailing  arbutus,  whortle- 
berry, pink,  cassia,  Venus'  fly- 
trap, etc. 

Eleventh  Class,  Tcosandria,  has 
over  ten  stamens,  on  the  calyx. 
Ex. :  rose,  cherry,  myrtle,  rasp- 
berry, plum,  peach,  etc. 

11th  order  has  12  styles,  and  the  12th  more 
founded  upon  the  covering  or  the  nakedness 
iti«8  in  the  fiorets.  * 


Twelfth  Class,  Polyandeia,  has 
over  ten  stamens,  on  the  recep- 
tacle. 
Ex. :  poppy,  peony,  pond-lily, 

bloodroot,  orange,  etc. 

Thirteenth    Class,    Didynamia, 
has  four  stamens,  two  longer 
than  the  others. 
Ex. :  lavender,  hyssop,  balm, 

mint,  foxglove,  etc. 

Fourteenth   Class,  Teteadyna- 
MiA,  has  six  stamens,  four  long- 
er than  the  others. 
Ex. :  cabbage,  mustard,  etc. 

Fifteenth  class,   Monadelphia, 
stamens  united  in  one  tube. 
Ex.  :  hollyhock,  mallows,  cot- 
ton, geranium,  cranebill,  etc. 

Sixteenth    Class,    Diadelphia, 
stamens  united  in  tivo  sets. 
Ex.  :  pea,  bean,  vetch,  locust, 

indigo,  clover,  lupine,  etc. 

Seventeenth  Class,  Syngenesia, 
anthers  united,  flowers  com- 
pound. 
Ex. :    daisy,  dandelion,  aster, 

lettuce,  tan.sy,  sunflower,  etc. 

Eighteenth  Class,  Gynandeia, 
stamens  on  the  pistil. 
Ex.:  ladies' -slipper,  snakeroot, 

orchis,  milk-weed,  arethusa,  Qif.. 

Nineteenth  Class,  Monceoia,  sta- 
mens and  pistils  in  different 
flowers  on  the  same  plant. 
Ex.  :  Indian  corn,  nettles,  etc. 

Twentieth   Class,  Dkecia,   sta- 
mens and  pistils  on  different 
plants. 
Ex.  :  willow,  poplar,  ash,  hop, 

hemp,  yew,  etc. 

Twenty-first    Class,   Ceyptoga- 
mia,  flowerless  plants. 
Ex.  :    ferns,   mosses,  lichens, 

mushrooms,  puff-balls,  sea- weed, 

etc. 


The  OEDERS  of  the  first  ten,  and  15th,  ICth, 
18  th,  19th,  and  20th  classes  are  determined 
by  the  number  of  styles  (or  stigmas  when 
the  styles  are  wanting)  in  each  flower.  The 
than  12.  The  orders  in  the  13th  class  are 
of  the  seeds;  and  in  the  17th  upon  peculiar- 
"  (Jailed  by  botanists  Phenog'amotis  plants. 


144  WILLSON's  fifth  EEADEE.  Part  IV. 

FLOWEELESs*'  plants.  Next  is  a  subdivision  of  the  former  into 
the  exogenous^''  or  outside  growers,  and  the  endogenous^^  or 
inside  growers,  whose  leading  characteristics  of  seed,  stem, 
and  leaf  have  already  been  noticed  in  the  article  on  Botany, 
in  the  Fourth  Reader. 

2.  A  very  large  proportion  of  the  exogenous  plants  have 
their  seeds  covered  in  various  ways,  some  being  inclosed  in 
little  boxes  or  chests,  called  pericarps  and  capsules,  some  hi 
pods,  and  others  in  the  centre  of  the  fruit,  as  in  apples,  peach- 
es, and  pears.  A  few  of  the  exogenous  plants,  however,  of 
which  the  pines,  the  firs,  and  the  yews  are  the  representatives, 
differ  from  all  the  rest  in  having  their  seeds  naked.  Thus  Na- 
ture has  formed  two  great  divisions  of  the  exogenous  plants; 
and  w^e  may  designate  them  as  those  which  have  covered  seeds  * 
and  those  which  have  naked  seeds} 

3.  The  endogenous  plants,  which  are  only  about  one  fifth 
as  numerous  as  the  exogenous,  are  also  divided  into  two  class- 
es, those  which  are  ^vithout  glumes  or  husks  surrounding  the 
flower,^  and  those  which  have  them.''  Lilies,  tulips,  jonquils, 
and  hyacinths  are  examples  of  the  former,  and  the  grasses  and 
various  kinds  of  grain  of  the  latter.  In  this  latter  division  are 
comprised  about  one  twelfth  part  of  the  described  species  of 
flowering  plants,  and  yet  these  species  embrace  at  least  nine 
tenths  of  the  number  of  individuals  composing  the  vegetable 
world ;  nor  is  their  number  surprising  when  we  consider  that 
the  grasses  are  the  chief  source  of  that  verdure  which  covers 
the  earth  of  northern  countries  with  a  gay  carpet  of  green 
during  the  months  of  summer. 

4.  The  flowerless  plants,  which  are  remarkable  for  the  ex- 
treme simplicity  of  their  structure,  having  no  wood,  properly 
so  called,  but  consisting  of  mere  masses  of  cells,  are  divided 
into  the  acrogens^'^  or  summit-growers,  and  the  thalloge^is^ 
which  grow  into  a  mere  flat  or  round  expansion.  In  the 
former  are  included  all  such  plants  as  ferns,  scouring  rushes, 
liverworts,  and  mosses  ;  and  in  the  latter  the  lichens,^  fungus 
plants,  sea- weeds,  and  mushrooms. 

6.  Thus,  in  the  three  great  divisions  of  the  vegetable  world 
— the  exogenous,  the  endogenous,  and  the  cryptogamous**  or 
flowerless  plants — there  are  six  natural  classes.  These  are 
divided  into  about  170  orders,  which  are  composed  of  gcncrjl 
or  families,  as  in  the  artificial  system.    The  orders  are  found- 

f*  Called  by  botnnlRtfl  Crjfj>tofi'avimtH  plants. 

•■  Kx-«3'/-EN-ouB ;  •'  En-i)5g'-bn-oitb,  Hec  Fourth  Readpr,  p.  V.G.     «  Called  Aivjiotperms. 

f  C&WedGymnonjtcrniR.  «  (Hlled  Arf'nmhcecu^.  '•< 'ailed  ff/itwuKJrotfcj. 


2d  Div.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE  PHYSIOLOGY,  OR -BOTANY.  145 

ed  on  the  most  manifest  characteristics  of  the  plant,  "below 
the  distinctions  of  classes.  Thus  compound  flowers  make  an 
order  called  the  composite;''  the  numerous  pod-bearing  plants 
are  arranged  in  the  leguminous^  order;  and  flowers  in  the 
form  of  a  cross  indicate  the  order  cross-shaped,  or  cruciferous}' 

6.  It  requires  much  more  knowledge  of  botany  to  examine 
a  plant  and  find  a  description  of  it  by  the  natural  than  by 
the  artificial  method ;  but  as  it  is  applicable  in  many  instances 
when  the  latter  is  inadequate,  the  reader  who  designs  to  pur- 
sue the  delightful  study  of  plants  further  than  the  design  of 
this  series  of  Readers  permits,  should  make  himself  familiar 
with  both  systems,  as  explained  in  the  excellent  text-books 
of  Gray,  Wood,  Darby,  and  Mrs.  Lincoln. 

7.  We  have  spoken  of  a  natural  classification ;  but  that 
which  has  thus  far  been  developed  by  the  labors  of  botanists 
has  still  much  of  the  artificial.  Finite  knowledge  can  not  grasp 
the  infinite.  "  There  is  a  systematic  arrangement  in  nature 
which  science  did  not  invent^  but  gradually  discovered.  The 
terms  in  which  this  arrangement  is  expresed  are  the  transla- 
tion, into  human  language,  of  the  thoughts  of  the  Creator." 
This  is  the  comprehensive  view  of  scientific  classification  held 
by  the  most  scientific  men  of  the  day.  The  Author  of  nature 
is  the  author  of  the  natural  system  of  classification. 

8.  Most  exalted,  then,  is  the  study  of  the  laws  and  arrange- 
ment of  the  vegetable  world.  Why  seek  trifling  sources  of 
enjoyment, 

When  at  hand, 
Along  these  blushing  borders  bright  with  dew, 
And  in  yon  mingled  wilderness  of  flowers, 
Fair-handed  Spring  unbosoms  every  grace? 
She  sends  the  snow-drop,  and  the  crocus  first ; 
Then  daisy,  primrose,  violet  darkly  blue, 
And  polyanthus  of  unnumber'd  dyes  ; 
Then  yellow  wall-flower,  stain'd  with  iron  brown; 
And  lavish  stock,  that  scents  the  garden  round ; 
From  the  soft  wing  of  vernal^  breezes  sheds 
Anemonies  ;6  auriculas,'''  enrich'd 
With  shining  meal  o'er  all  their  velvet  leaves ; 
And  full  ranunculus,8  of  glowing  red. 

9.  Then  comes  the  tulip-race,  where  beauty  plays 

Her  idle  freaks :  from  family  difi"u8ed 
To  family,  as  flies  the  father-dust,^ 
The  varied  colors  run ;  and  while  they  lyreak 
On  the  charm'd  eye,  th'  exulting  florist  marks, 
With  secret  pride,  the  wonders  of  his  hand. 
No  gradual  bloom  is  wanting  ;  from  the  bud. 
First-born  of  spring,  to  summer's  musky  tribes  ; 
Nor  hyacinths  of  purest  virgin  white. 
Low-bent,  and  blushing  inward  ;  nor  jonquils 
Of  potent  fragrance;  nor  Narcissusio  fair, 


The  Compos'itos,  or  sunflower  tribe. 

Legumino'sce^  having  papilionaceous,  or  butterfly-shaped  flowers. 

Cruci'/erce.,  or  cross-bearing ;  also  called  cruci/ers. 

G 


146 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   EEADEE. 


Pabt  IY 


10. 


Ab  o'er  the  fabled  fountain  hanging  still ; 

Nor  broad  carnations,  nor  gay-spotted  pinks; 

Nor,  Bhower'd  from  every  bush,  the  damafk  rose; 

Infinite  numbers,  delicacies,  smells, 

With  hues  on  hues  expression  can  not  paint— 

The  breath  of  Nature,  and  her  endless  bloom, 

rifeil,  Source  of  Being !    Universal  Soul 

Of  heaven  and  earth !     Essential  Presence,  hnil ! 

To  Thee  I  bend  the  knee  ;  to  Thee  my  thoughts, 

Continual,  climb  ;  who,  with  a  master-hand. 

Hast  the  great  whole  into  perfection  touch"  d. 

By  Thee  the  various  vegetative  tribes, 

Wrapped  in  a  filmy  net,  and  clad  with  leaves, 

Draw  the  live  ether,  and  imbibe  the  dew ; 

By  Thee  disposed  into  congenial  soils, 

Stands  each  attractive  plant,  and  sucks,  and  swelbt 

The  juicy  tide ;  a  twining  mass  of  tubes. 

At  Thy  command  the  vernal  sun  awakes 

The  torpid  sap,  detruded^  to  the  root 

By  wint'ry  winds ;  that  now  in  fluent  dance, 

And  lively  fermentation,  mounting,  spreads 

All  this  innumerous-colored  scene  of  things.— Thomson. 


'  A«'-BO-GENS,  see  p.  196. 

2  Thal'-lo-gen8,  see  p.  202. 

3  Li'-€HENf,  see  p.  202. 

♦  €btp-tQg'-a-mou8,  see  p.  196. 

*  Veb'-nal,  pertaining  to  the  spring. 

•  A-nem'-o-ne,  the  wind-flower. 

'  Au-Bie'-iJ-LA,  a  beautiful  species  of  prim- 
rose. 
8  Ra.-nuw'-€U-lus,  the  crowfoot. 


9  "  FATnEB-DTJST,"  the  pollen  of  plants. 
See  Fourth  Reader,  p.  223. 

10  Nae-cis'-sus.  According  to  Grecian  fable, 
2^'arcissiis  was  a  beautiful  youth,  who,  see- 
ing his  image  reflected  in  a  fountain,  and 
becoming  enamored  of  it,  pined  away  till 
he  was  changed  into  the  flower  which  bears 
his  name. 

u  De-teC'-»ed,  driven  or  thru  t  down. 


MAY  FLOWERS. 

*'  Blessed  be  God  for  flowers; 
For  the  bright,  gentle,  holy  thoughts  that  breathe 
From  out  their  odorous  beauty  like  a  wreath 
Of  sunshine  on  life's  hours." 

The  welcome  flowers  are  blossoming 

In  joyous  troops  revealed ; 
They  lift  their  dewy  buds  and  bells 

In  garden,  mead,  and  field. 
They  lurk  in  every  sunless  path 

Where  forest  children  tread, 
They  dot  like  stars  the  sacred  turf 

Which  lies  above  the  dead. 

They  sport  with  every  playful  wind 

That  stirs  the  blooming  trees. 
And  laugh  on  every  fragrant  bush 

All  full  of  toiling  bees  ; 
From  the  green  marge  of  lake  and  stream, 

Fresh  vale  and  mountain  sod, 
They  look  in  gentle  glory  forth. 

The  pure  sweet  flowers  of  God. — Lyons. 

I'll  teach  thee  miracles !     Walk  on  this  heath, 
And  say  to  the  neglected  flower,  ' '  Lot)k  up, 
And  be  thou  beautiful !"  if  thou  hast  faith 

It  will  obey  thy  word. — BARRixaTOir. 


2d  Div.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OB   BOTANY. 


U7 


FIEST  DIVISION   OF  THE  VEGETABLE   KING- 
DOM.   EXOGENS. 

[The  four  most  important  physiological  peculiarities  of  this  great  natural  division  are, 
1st.  The  plants  are  Exogenous^  or  outward  growers.  (See  Fourth  Eeader,  p.  176.)  2d. 
The  leaves  are  net-veined.  3d.  The  flowers  are  mostly  quinary  or  quaternary — that  is, 
they  have  five  or  four  sepals,  petals,  and  stamens,  or  some  power  of  those  numbers — rare- 
ly ternary.  4th.  The  embryo  has  tico  cotyledons ;  that  is,  the  plants  are  dicotyledonous. 
Other  peculiarities  will  be  noticed  under  the  different  families  which  compose  the  divi- 
Bion.] 

LESSON"    IV. THE   ROSE   FAMILY. 

[Exogenous'  or  Dicotyledonous  ;2  Angiosperms;3  Pohipetaloup.*'] 


i.  Jio'sa  gaVlica^  French  rose,  xi.  12,  pk.,  3  f.,  Jn.-Jl.,  France.  2.  Eo'sa  damaace'na. 
Pamask  rose,  xi.  12,  r.,  3  f.,  Jn.-Jl. ,  Levant.  8.  Ro'sa  musco'sa,  Moss  roFC,  xi.  12, 
Jn.-Jl.,  S.  Europe.  4.  jRo'sa  cinnamo'nea^  Cinnamon  rose,  xi.  12,  pk.,  6  f ,  My.,  Europe 
5.  Fraga'ria  grandiflo'ra.,  Wild-pine  strawberry,  xi.  12,  w.,  1  f.,  Ap.-My.,  S.  Am.  6 
Jiu'biis  occidenta'lis^  Am.  raspberry,  xi.  12,  w.,  5f.,  My.-Jn.,  N.  Am.  7.  Spirce'a  ml 
ci/o'lia,  Willow-leaved  spiraea,  or  Queen  of  the  Meadow,  xi.  5,  w.,  3  f.,  Jn.-Au.,  N.  Am. 
8.  Spirce'a  ulmifo'lia^  Elm-leaved  spiraea,  xi.  5,  w.,  3  f ,  Jn.-Jl.,  S.  Europe.  9.  Spirce'a 
iomento'say  Hard-hack  spiraea,  xi.  5,  r.,  3  f.,  Au,-S.,  N.  Am. 

For  explamition  of  the  characters  used  in  connection  with  the  botanical  descriptions^ 
see  close  of  the  Table  of  Contents. 

1.  How  much  of  memory  dwells  amid  thy  bloom\ 

Rose' !  ever  wearing  beauty  for  thy  dower' ! 
The  Bridal  day— the  Festival— the  Tomb—  ^ 

Thou  hast  thy  part  in  each,  thou  stateliest  flower^  I 

2.  Therefore  with  thy  soft  breath  come  floating  by 

A  thousand  images  of  Love  and  Grier, 
Dreams,  fiU'd  with  tokens  of  mortality^ 
Deep  thoughts  of  all  things  beautiful  and  brief. 


148  willson's  fifth  READEK.  Part  IV. 

8.  Not  snch  thy  epells  o'er  those  that  hail'd  thee  first 

In  the  clear  light  of  Eden's''  golden  day' ; 
There  thy  rich  leaves  to  crimson  glory  burst, 
Link'd  with  no  dim  remembrance  of  decay. 

4.  Rose' !  for  the  banquet  gathered,  and  the  bier; 

Rose'  I  colored  now  by  human  liope  or  pain  ; 
Surely  where  death  is  not — nor  change,  nor  fear, 
Yet  may  we  meet  thee,  Joy's  own  Flower,  again ! — Mbs.  Heuanb. 

5.  At  the  head  of  the  exogenous,  or  outward  growing 
plants,  having  covered  seeds,  and  many  petals  or  flower 
leaves,  may  be  placed  the  Rose  family,  which  is  conspicuous 
for  the  beauty  of  some  of  its  members,  and  the  utility  of 
others.  It  not  only  includes  the  rose  proper,  but  the  beauti- 
ful spiraeas  of  our  lawns  and  gardens ;  the  hawthorn,  which 
is  employed  in  hedges ;  the  strawberry,  the  raspberry,  and 
the  blackberry ;  and  also  such  fruits  as  the  apple,  pear,  quince, 
almond,  peach,  plum,  and  cherry. 

6.  The  leaves  of  all  plants  in  the  rose  family  are  alternate,^ 
and  the  flowers,  in  their  wild  state,  are  regular,  with  five  pet- 
als, as  may  still  be  seen  in  the  wild  brier,  which  is  one  of  our 
wild  roses.  The  hundred-leaf  roses,  cabbage  roses,  and  all* 
roses  with  more  than  five  petals,  have  probably  had  their  sta- 
mens changed  to  petals  by  cultivation.  The  artificial  or  culti- 
vated roses — as  likewise  all  plants  which  have  been  changed 
in  the  same  manner — have  to  be  propagated  from  cuttings, 
roots,  or  buds,  as  they  do  not  produce  perfect  seeds. 

7.  In  some  parts  of  India  roses  are  extensively  cultivated 
for  the  manufacture  of  rose-water,  and  the  ottar  or  oil  of  roses, 
the  former  being  used  chiefly  by  the  natives  at  their  festivals 
and  weddings,  when  it  is  distributed  largely  to  the  guests  as 
they  arrive,  and  sprinkled  with  profusion  in  the  apartments. 
On  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  roses  are  cultivated  in  fields  of 
hundreds  of  acres ;  and  it  is  said  their  delightful  odor  can  be 
scented  at  a  distance  of  seven  miles.  The  pure  ottar  of  roses, 
so  delicious  for  its  fragrance,  is  not  unfrequently  sold  for 
twenty  or  thirty  dollars  an  ounce. 

8.  *'  The  rose  looks  fair\  but  fairer  we  it  deem 

For  that  sweet  odor  which  doth  in  it  live. 
The  cankers  blooms  have  full  as  deep  a  dye 
As  the  perfumed  tincture  of  the  ro9e8\ 
Hang  on  such  thorn8\  and  play  as  wantonly 
When  Hummer's  breath  their  masked  buds  disclosM. 
But,  for  their  virtue',  they  have  naught  but  show^ ; 
They  live  unmoved',  and  unrespected  fade* — 
Die  to  themselves* :  sweet  rosea'  do  not  so* ; 
Of  their  sweet  deaths'  are  sweetest  odors  made." 

9.  Persia  has  been  styled,  pre-eminently,  the  "Land  of 
Roses ;"  for  not  only  are  the  gardens,  even  of  the  common 
people,  full  of  these  flowers,  but,  in  the  flowering  season,  their 


2d  DiV.  OP  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  149 

rooms  are  constantly  ornamented  with  them,  and  mattresses 
are  made  of  their  leaves  for  men  of  rank  to  recline  upon.  A 
festival,  also,  is  held,  called  the  Feast  of  Roses,  which  lasts  the 
whole  time  they  are  in  blossom. 

10.  A  happier  smile  illumes  each  brow, 

With  quicker  spread  each  heart  uncloses, 
And  all  is  ecstasy— for  now 

The  valley  holds  its  Feast  of  Roses ;  . 

That  joyous  time,  when  pleasures  pour 
Profusely  round,  and  in  their  shower 
Hearts  open,  like  the  season's  rose. 

The  floweret  of  a  hundred  leaves. 
Expanding  when  the  dew-fall  flows. 

And  every  leaf  its  balm  receives.— Moobe. 

11.  "Poetry  is  lavish  of  roses.  It  heaps  them  into  beds, 
weaves  them  into  crowns  and  garlands,  twines  them  into  ar- 
bors, forges  them  into  chains,  adorns  with  them  the  goblet 
used  in  the  festivals  of  Bacchus,  plants  them  in  the  bosom  of 
beauty — nay,  not  only  delights  to  bring  in  the  rose  itself  upon 
every  occasion,  but  seizes  each  particular  beauty  it  possesses 
as  an  object  of  comparison  with  the  loveliest  works  of  nature." 
"As  soft  as  a  rose-leaf,"  as  "sweet  as  a  rose,"  "rosy  clouds," 
"  rosy  cheeks,"  "  rosy  lips,"  "  rosy  blushes,"  "  rosy  dawns," 
etc.,  are  expressions  so  familiar  that  they  have  almost  become 
the  language  of  daily  life. 

12.  The  wild  rose,  one  species  of  which  is  the  wild  brier,  or 
eglantine,  has  been  made  the  emblem  of  "Nature's  sweet  sim- 
pUcity"  in  all  ages.  It  forms  one  of  the  principal  flowers  in 
the  rustic's  bouquet."^  It  is  not  loved  for  its  fair,  delicate  blos- 
soms only;  but  its  fragrant  leaves,  which  perfume  the  breeze 
of  dewy  morn,  and  the  soft  breath  of  eve,  entitle  it  to  its  fre- 
quent association  with  the  woodbine  or  honeysuckle. 

"The  wild  rose  scents  the  summer  air, 

And  woodbines  weave  in  bowers. 

To  glad  the  swain  sojourning  there, 

And  maidens  gathering  flowers." 

13.  The  standards  of  the  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster  had 
for  emblems  the  wild  rose ;  the  white  rose  being  used  to  dis- 
tinguish the  partisans  of  the  former,  and  the  red  those  of  the 
latter. 

"Thou  once  wast  doomed. 
Where  civil  discord  braved  the  field. 
To  grace  the  banner  and  the  shield." 

14.  It  is  said  that  the  angels  possess  a  more  beautiful  kind 
of  rose  than  those  we  have  on  earth ;  and  the  poet  Cowley,  in 
one  of  his  poems,  represents  David  as  seeing,  in  a  vision,  a 
number  of  angels  pass  by,  with  gilded  baskets  in  their  hands, 
from  which  they  scattered  flowers  : 


150 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   READER. 


Pakt  IV. 


Some\  as  they  went',  the  blue-eyed  violets  strew' ; 

Borne,  Bpotlesa  lilius  in  loo.se  order  threw\ 

Some  did  the  way  with  full-blown  rones  epread', 

Their  smell  divine',  and  color  strangely  red' : 

Not  such  as  our  dull  gardens  proudly  wear. 

Whom  weathers  taint,  and  winds'  rude  kisses  tear. 

Such,  I  believe,  was  the  first  rose's  hue, 

Which,  at  God's  word,  in  beauteous  Eden  grew; 

Queen  of  the  flowers  that  made  that  garden  gay. 

The  morning  blushes  of  the  spring's  new  day. — (Jowley. 

15.  The  origin  of  the  red  color  of  the  rose  has  been  fanci- 
fully accounted  for  in  various  ways.  By  the  Greeks,  the  rose 
was  consecrated  to  Venus,  the  goddess  of  Beauty ;  and  ancient 
fable  attributes  its  red  color  to  a  drop  of  blood  from  the  thorn- 
pierced  foot  of  the  goddess, 

'^  Which,  o'er  the  white  rone,  being  shed, 
Made  it  forever  after  ?-ed." 

Its  beautiful  tint  is  poetically  traced  to  another  source  by  a 
modern  poet : 

As  erst  in  Eden's  blissful  bowers. 

Young  Eve  surveyed  her  countless  flowers', 

An  opening  rose  of  purest  voMU  '^ 

She  mai'k'd  with  eye  that  beara'd  deliglit'; 

Its  leaves'  she  kissed',  and  straight  it  drew 

From  beauty's  lip  the  vermeil**  hue — J.  Cabey. 

16.  Perhaps  no  one  of  the  roses  is  more  prized  for  its  beau- 
ty than  the  elegant  moss  rose.  The  flowers  are  deeply  color- 
ed, and  the  rich  mossiness  which  surrounds  them  gives  them 

a  luxuriant  appearance  not  easily  de- 
scribed. The  origin  of  this  mossy  vest 
has  been  thus  explained  by  a  German 
writer. 

The  angel  of  the  flowers  one  day 
Beneath  a  rose-tree  sleeping  lay — 
That  spirit,  to  whose  charge  is  given 
To  bathe  young  buds  in  dew  from  heaven. 
Awakening  from  his  slight  repose. 
The  angel  whispered  to  the  rose, 
•'  O  fondest  object  of  my  care. 
Still  fairest  found  where  all  is  fair, 
For  the  sweet  shade  thou  hast  given  me, 
Ask  what  thou  wilt, 'tis  granted  thee." 
Then  said  the  rose,  with  deepened  glow, 
"  On  me  another  grace  bestow." 
The  angel  paused  in  silent  thought — 
What  grace  was  there  the  flower  had  not  ? 
'Twas  but  a  moment — o'er  the  rose 
A  veil  of  moss  the  angel  throws — 
And,  robed  in  Nature's  simplest  weed', 
Could  there  a  flower  that  rose  exceed'  l* 


Moss  Rose. 

1  Ex-Su'-K-NOU8,  outward  gi-owers.  See 
Fourth  Reader,  p,  17C. 

3  DI-co-tyl-k'-don-ol's,  having  two  cotyle- 
dons.    See  Fourth  Reader,  note,  p.  193. 

3  AN'-tii-o-srEEMB,  plants  which  have  their 
seeds  covered.  [petals. 

*  roL-Y-PET'-Ai.-Ou8,  plants  having  many! 


*  At-TiiKN'-ATE,  rising  liighcr  on  opposite 
sides  alternately,  and  following  in  regular 
order.  • 

•  €ank'-er,  a  name  given  to  the  dog  rose. 
'  Biio-guET'  ('ioo-A<?'),  a  bunch  of  flowers. 
8  Ver'-meil  <^for  vc-nnxliorOy  a  red  color. 


2d  Div.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY. 


151 


LESSON   V. — OTJR   COMMON  PRUITS. 

[Exogenous  or  Dicotyledonous  ;  Angiospenns;  Polypetalous.] 


1.  Aniyg'dalus  incn'ria^  AVoolly  almond,  xi.  1,  r.,  2  f.,  M.-A.,  Caucasus.  2.  Amyg'dalus 
commu'nis,  Sweet  almond,  xi.  1,  r.,  15  f.,  M.-A.,  Barbary.  3.  Pru'nus  cer'asus^  Com- 
mon cherry,  xi.  1,  w.,  20  f.,  A.-My.,  England.  5.  Pru'nus  Arvieni'aca,  Common  apri- 
cot, xi.  1,  w.,  15  f.,  F.-M.,  Levant.  6.  Cratce'fius  ni'gra.  Black  hawthorn,  xi.  5,  w.,  20  f., 
A.-My.,  Hungary.  7.  Cratce'gus  puncta'ta^  Common  thorn-tree,  xi.  5,  w.,  15  f..  My,,  N. 
Am.  8.  Cratce'gua  2i!F^fo'l^a,  Pearl-leafed  thorn,  xi.  3,  w.,  15  f.,  Jn.,  N.  Am.  9.  Cydo'- 
nia  vulga'ris^  Common  quince,  xi.  5,  w.,  12  f.,  My.-Jn.,  Austria. 

1.  All  the  most  important  fruits  of  the  temperate  regions 
of  the  world,  such  as  the  strawberry,  raspberry,  blackberry', 
and  the  apple,  pear,  quince,  cherry,  plum,  apricot,  peach,  nec- 
tarine, and  almond',  have  been  classed  by  botanists  in  the 
rose  family^ ;  for  all  of  them,  in  their  natural  or  wild  state, 
have  similar  characteristics  by  which  they  may  be  distinguish- 
ed. They  are  not  only  exogenous',  have  covered  seeds',  and 
are  polypetalous',  but  their  leaves  are  arranged  in  alternate 
order  around  the  stem,  and  never  opposite^ ;  their  flowers  are 
showy',  have  five  petals',  and  are  inserted  on  the  calyx\  By 
these,  and  a  few  other  more  minute  characteristics,  these  nu- 
merous plants  are  arranged  in  one  large  family. 

2.  Of  the  well-known  apple,  the  most  popular  of  all  fruits, 
no  description  need  be  given ;  but  it  is  well  to  remember,  as 
an  evidence  of  what  cultivation  has  done,  that  its  many  hund- 
red kinds  are  believed  to  be  mere  varieties  of  one  original 
species,  known  as  the  common  crab-apple.  The  apple  was 
known   to   the   ancient  Greeks ;    the  Romans  had  twenty- 


152 


willson's  fefth  eeadee. 


paet  rv. 


two  varieties  of  it ;   and ,  poets,  in  all  ages,  have  sung  its 
praises. 

The  fragrant  stores,  the  wide  projected  heaps 
Of  apples,  which  the  lusty-handed  year, 
Innumeroua,  o'er  the  blushing  orchard  shakes; 
A  various  spirit,  fresh,  delicious,  keen. 
Dwells  ill  their  gelid i  pores;  and,  active,  points 
The  piercing  cider  for  the  thirsty  tongue. 

TnoMSOjf. 

3.  The  pear  is  a  fruit-tree  next  in  popularity  and  value  to 
the  apple,  and  its  wood  is  almost  as  hard  as  box,  for  which  it 
is  even  substituted  by  engravers.  Its  blossom,  of  which  we 
give  a  drawing,  exhibits  the  general  character  of  the  blossoms 
of  aU  the  rose  family. 

"  The  juicy  pear 
Lies  in  soft  profusion  scattered  round. 
A  various  sweetness  swells  the  gentle  race, 
By  Nature's  all-refining  hand  prepared. 
Of  tempered  sun  and  water,  earth  and  air, 
In  ever-changing  composition  mixed." 

4.  The  quince,  plum,  and  apricot 
we  must  pass  cursoi  ily  by,  merely  re- 
marking of  the  apricot  that  it  is  a 
fruit  intermediate  in  character  be- 
tween the  plum  and  the  peach.  The 
peach  and  nectarine  were  considered  by  the  Greeks  as  mere- 
ly different  varieties  of  the  almond-tree,  and  as  having  sprung 
from  it  by  cultivation.  The  fruit  of  the  peach  has  a  downy 
covering,  while  that  of  the  nectarine  is  smooth,  and  both  have 
been  known  to  grow  on  the  same  tree,  and  even  on  the  same 
branch.  The  leaves  and  blossoms  of  these  trees  can  scarcely 
be  distinguished  apart.  The  blossoms  of  all  of  them  appear 
early  in  spring,  before  the  leaves ;  and  hence  those  of  the  al- 
mond especially,  which  are  noted  for  their  profusion  and 
beauty,  have  been  made  the  emblem  of  hope — so  early  do 
they  hold  out  the  promise  of  abundance.    Thus  Moore  says : 

"  The  hope,  in  dreams  of  a  happier  hour, 
That  alights  on  misery's  brow', 
Springs  forth  like  the  silvery  almond  flower. 
That  blooms  on  a  leafless  bough  \" 

6.  Nor  is  the  emblem  without  its  peculiar  appropriateness ; 
for  so  far  back  as  we  can  trace  the  liistory  of  this  tree,  its 
early  and  fragrant  blossoms,  appearing  before  the  leaves,  were 
regarded  as  the  promise  of  a  fruitful  season.  Virgil  gave 
expression  to  the  popular  belief  in  the  following  lines : 

•'  Mark  well  the  flowering  almond  in  the  wood' ; 
It  odorous  blooms  the  bearing  branches  load', 
The  glebe'  will  answer  to  the  sylvan'  reign' ; 
Great  heats^  will  follow',  and  large  crope  of  grain' ; 


2d  Div.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE  PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  153 

But,  if  a  wood  of  leaves  o'ershade  the  tree', 
Such,  and  so  barren,  will  the  harvest  be^ ; 
In  vain  the  hind*  shall  vex  the  threshing-floor', 
For  empty  straw  and  chaff  shall  be  thy  store." 

6.  The  following  tribute  from  an  English  poet  to  the  al- 
mond blossom  is  beautiful  and  appropriate : 

Blossom  of  the  almond  trees, 
April's  gift  to  April's  bees, 
Birthday  ornament  of  spring. 
Flora's  fairest  daughterling ; 
*  Coming  when  no  flow' rets  dare 

Trust  the  cruel  outer  air ; 
When  the  royal  kingcup  bold 
Dares  not  don  his  coat  of  gold ; 
And  the  sturdy  blackthorn  spray 
Keeps  his  silver  for  the  May ; 
Coming  when  no  flow' rets  would, 
Save  thy  lowly  sisterhood. 
Early  violets,  blue  and  white. 
Dying  for  their  love  of  light. 

7«  Almond  blossom,  sent  to  teach  us 

That  the  spring-days  soon  will  reach  us, 

Lest,  with  longing  over-tried. 

We  die  as  the  violets  died — 

Blossom,  clouding  all  the  tree 

With  thy  crimson  broidery. 

Long  before  a  leaf  of  green 

On  the  bravest  bough  is  seen ; 

Ah  1  when  winter  winds  are  swinging 

All  thy  red  bells  into  ringing, 

With  a  bee  in  every  bell, 

Almond  bloom',  we  greet  thee  well\ — Edwin  Abnold. 

8.  The  mountain  ash,  a  small  but  beautiful  and  popular  tree, 
also  belonging  to  the  pear  and  apple  family,  and  found  wild 
in  mountain  woods  in  our  Northern  and  Middle  States,  is 
often  cultivated  for  its  ornamental  clusters  of  scarlet  berries. 

Tlie  mountain  ash, 
Deck'd  with  autumnal  berries  that  outshine 
Springs  richest  blossoms,  yields  a  splendid  show 
Amid  the  leafy  woods ;  and  ye  have  seen, 
By  a  brook  side  or  solitary  tarn,^ 
How  she  her  station  doth  adorn ;  the  pool 
Glows  at  her  feet,  and  all  the  gloomy  rocks 
Are  brighten' d  round  her  ! — Words wokth. 

9.  But  while  the  Rose  family  comprehends  all  the  most  im- 
portant of  the  fruits  of  the  temperate  regions,  and  is  distin- 
guished above  all  others  for  its  floral  charms,  its  medicinal 
properties  are  quite  noted  also.  Thus  the  well-known  Prussic 
acid,  which,  although  a  powerful  poison,  is  also  the  basis  of 
laurel  water,  exists  in  abundance  in  the  leaves  and  kernels  of 
the  plums,  cherries,  and  almonds ;  and  many  of  the  plants 
of  this  family  yield  a  gum  which  is  nearly  allied  to  gum 
Arabic. 

1  6el'-ii>,  cold ;  very  cold.  1*  Hind,  the  servant  or  domestic  of  a  hus' 

2  Glebe,  the  soil ;  the  turf.  bandman  or  farmer ;  a  rustic. 

3  Stl'-van,  pertaining  to  the  forest.  1*  Takn,  a  mountain  lake. 

G  2 


154 


willson's  fifth  eeadee. 


Fabt  IV. 


LES.  VI. — CAMELLIA,  MALLOW,  AND   CITRON  FAMILIES. 

[ExoQKNOTTS  or  Dicotyledonous;  Angiosperms;  Pohjpetalouji.'] 


1.  CavieVlia  japon' ica^  Japan  rose,  xv.  12  (a  tree  in  Japan),  w.  and  or.,  Mv.-,J1.,  Japan. 
2.  Gossyp'ium  herba'ceum^  Common  cotton,  xv.  12,  y.,  4  f.,  Jl.,  E.  Indies.  3.  Gosgiip'ium 
narbaden'se^  Barbadoes  cotton,  xv.  12,  y.,  5  f.,  S.,  W.  Indies.  4.  AUhe'a  ro'setL,  Common 
hollyhock,  xv.  12,  r.  and  w.,  8  f.,  Jl.-S.,  China.  6.  Mal'va  moscka'ta^  Muak-mallow,  xv. 
12,  pk.,  2  f,  Jl.-Au.,  Britain.  6.  Ilibia'cua  milita'ris^  Louisiana  hibiscus,  xv.  12,  pu.,  3 
f,  Au.-S.,  Ix)ui8iana.  7.  Cit'rus  tnilga'ris^  Seville  orange,  xii.  1,  w.,  15  f.,  My.-Jl.,  "\V. 
Asia.  8.  Cit'ruH  limo'num^  Lemon,  xiL  1,  w.,  15  f.,  My.-Jl.,  \V,  Asia.  9.  CU'nu  Umef' 
ta^  Lime,  xii.  1,  w.,  8  f.,  My.-JL,  W.  Asia. 

1.  The  large,  beautiful,  and  rose-shaped  flower  called  Ja- 
ponica,  the  loblolly  hay  of  Southern  swamps,  and  the  tea-plant 
of  China  belong  to  the  Camellia  family. 

"  The  chaste  camellia's  pure  and  spotless  bloom. 
That  boastd  no  fragrance,  and  conceals  no  thorn," 

was  brought  from  Japan  about  the  year  1739,  and  is  justly 
esteemed  one  of  the  choicest  ornaments  of  the  green-house. 
A  great  many  varieties,  ranging  from  the  purest  white  through 
delicate  blush,  and  striped,  to  deep  red,  have  been  produced 
by  cultivation.  The  white  camellia  is  often  addressed  by  the 
poets,  as  in  the  following  sonnet,  as  an  emblem  of  perfected 
loveliness. 

2.  Say\  what  impels^  me,  pure  and  spotless  flower'. 

To  view  thee  with  a  secret  sympathy^  ? 

Ib  there  some  living  spirit  shrined  in  thee' 7 


2d  DlV.  OF  ,  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OK   BOTANY.  155 

That,  as  thou  bloom' st  within  thy  humble  bower, 
Endows  thee  with  some  strange  mysterious  power, 

Waking  high  thoughts'  ?    As  there  perchance  might  be 

Some  angel-form  of  truth  and  purity, 
Whose  hallowed  presence  shared  my  lonely  hour'  ? 

Ye3\  lovely  flower',  'tis  not  thy  virgin  glow, 

Thy  petals  whiter  than  descending  snow, 
Nor  all  the  charms  thy  velvet  folds  display^  ;* 

'Tis  the  soft  image  of  some  beaming  mind, 

By  grace  adorn' d,  hy  elegance  refined, 
That  o'er  my  heart  thus  holds  its  silent  sway. — W.  RoscOB. 

3.  The  famous  tea-plant  of  China,  a  drawing  of  a  stalk  of 
which  is  here  given,  of  about  one  quarter  the  natural  size,  is 
regarded  by  many  botanists  as  merely  a 
species  of  the  camellia,  which  it  much 
resembles  in  the  form  of  its  leaves  and 
blossoms.  Some  dried  leaves  of  tea  were 
first  brought  to  Europe  in  the  seven- 
teenth century  by  a  Russian  nobleman ; 
and  now,  out  of  China,  the  annual  con- 
sumption of  this  one  plant,  as  a  bever- 
age, is  estimated  at  a  hundred  millions 
of  pounds. 

4.  For  this  amount  the  Chinese  peo- 
ple receive  nearly  thirty  millions  of  dol- 
lars ;   and  yet  it  is  believed  that  they 
themselves  consume  twenty  times  more 
than  the  entire  amount  exported  from 
their  country !     The  different  kinds  and 
Green  Tea  (,Thea  viridis).     quality  of  tea  depend  chiefly  upon  the 
time  of  plucking  the  leaves,  the  mode  in  which  they  are  pre- 
pared for  use,  and  the  soil  on  which  they  grow,  rather  than 
upon  any  specific  differences  in  the  plants  themselves. 

5.  In  China  and  Japan  tea  is  sold  in  shops  and  at  the  street 
corners,  and  borne  about  in  kettles  by  itinerant  merchants, 
who  sell  small  cups — without  sugar  or  milk,  as  it  is  univers- 
ally taken  in  the  East — at  a  trifling  price.  A  tea-drinking  in 
a  rich  man's  house  is,  however,  a  very  ceremonious  affair,  No 
tea-pots  are  used,  but  a  portion  of  leaves  is  put  into  each 
cup,  and  boihng  water  poured  on  them.  It  would  be  highly 
indecorous  to  spill  a  drop  out  of  the  cups  during  the  bowings 
which  precede  the  drinking;  and  to  prevent  this  they  are 
but  half-filled.  The  guests  drink  at  many  sips,  and  it  is  a 
point  of  politeness  for  all  to  empty  their  cups  exactly  at  the 
same  time,  that  they  may  put  them  down  at  once. 

•  The  downward  inflection  is  appropriate  here,  because  it  is,  really,  the  conclusion  of  the 
sentiment,  the  remaining  three  lines  being  merely  a  repetition  of  the  sentiment  previously 
expressed.  If  we  had  given  only  the  last  six  lines,  beginning  with  "  Lovely  flower',"  the 
riidng  inflection  would  have  been  required  y-t  "■display." 


156  WILLSON's  fifth   EEADEB.  Part  IV. 

6.  Tea  is  served  very  hot ;  but  it  is  a  flagrant  breach  of  eti- 
quette in  any  one  to  notice  this  unpleasant  fact.  Should  the 
weather  be  very  warm,  when  the  cups  are  emptied  the  master 
of  the  house  says,  "  I  invite  you  to  take  up  your  fans."  But 
should  any  unlucky  guest  have  forgotten  his  fan,  the  rest  of 
the  company  do  not  permit  themselves  the  liberty  of  using 
theirs,  for  fear  of  hurting  his  feelings.  Finally,  after  innumer- 
able tedious  acts  of  politeness,  in  which  each  individual  aims 
to  produce  the  impression  that,  in  his  own  opinion,  his  insig- 
nificant person  is  by  no  means  worthy  the  exalted  honor  of 
drinking  with  the  illustrious  company  among  whom  he  is  in- 
finitely surprised  to  be  received,  the  signal  for  leave-taking  is 
given  by  the  highest  in  rank  rising  and  saying  to  the  host,  "  I 
have  been  troublesome  to  you  a  very  long  time" — which  is 
probably  the  only  true  word  spoken  during  the  entertain- 
ment. 

7.  We  might  speak  of  American  tea-parties  also,  but  they 
are  too  well-known  and  appreciated  to  need  description  here ; 
for  even  the  poetic  muse  has  been  evoked,  on  more  occasions 
than  one,  to  give  them  notoriety. 

"  How  they  sit  and  chittcr  chatter\ 
O'er  a  cup  of  scalding  water\ 
Of  this  one's  dress  or  carriage^ 
Of  that  one's  death  or  marriage^" 

8.  In  the  Mallow  family,  which  contains  a  great  variety  of 
some  of  the  finest  flowers  in  nature,  are  found  the  various  spe- 
cies of  the  altheas  or  hollyhocks,  and  the 
hibiscus,  together  with  that  famous  plant, 
"King  Cotton,"  avowedly  the  most  valu- 
able of  all  the  vegetable  products  which 
man  converts  into  materials  for  clothing. 
The  common  cotton  plant  grows  from 
three  to  five  feet  in  height,  with  five- 
lobed,  blue-veined,  dark  green  leaves.  The 
flower  is  of  a  pale  yellow,  changing  to  a 
pink  color,  purple  spotted  at  the  bottom, 
with  five  petals.  On  the  falling  of  the 
flower  a  kind  of  pod  or  boll  is  developed. 

Cotton  Plant.— 1.  The  ri-  which,  in  process  of  ripeninff,  bursts  and 

pened  boll.      '2.  Flower  in    ,.      ,     '        A  i  "f  fi  t,*    u    • 

the  morning.     3.  Flower  at  dlScloSCS  the    SUOW-whltC  COttOU,  whlch  IS 

evening.  ^^g  hairy  covering  of  the  seeds. 

9.  The  cUron  family  embraces  a  number  of  species  of  hand- 
some evergreen  shrubs  or  small  trees,  mostly  natives  of  the 
East  Indies,  and  cultivated  only  in  warm  regions.  They  have 
odoriferous  flowers,  and  bear  some  of  the  most  brilliant,  fra- 


2d  DiV.OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OB   BOTAISTY.  157 

grant,  and  delicious  fruits,  among  which  may  be  enumerated 
the  orange,  shaddock,  citron,  lemon,  and  lime.  As  with  ap- 
ples, many  varieties  of  each  have  been  produced  by  cultiva- 
tion. The  golden  apples  of  the  heathens,  and  the  forbidden 
fruit  of  the  Jews,  are  supposed  to  belong  to  this  family.  The 
orange  blossom,  distinguished  no  less  for  its  beauty  than  its' 
deUcious  fragrance,  has  very  appropriately  been  made  the  em- 
blem of  purity  and  loveliness.  The  land  where  the  citron  and 
orange  grow  is  proverbially  the  land  of  balmy  fragrance,  of 
gentle  breezes,  and  azure  skies. 

Know'st  thou  the  land,  where  groves  of  citron  flower'  ? 
And  golden  orange,  darkling  leaves  embower'  ? 
Where  gentle  breezes  fan  the  azure  skies, 
The  myrtle  still,  and  high  the  laurel  rise'  ? 
Know'st  thou  it  well,  that  land,  beloved  friend'? 
Thither  with  thee,  oh,  thither  would  I  wend. — Goethe. 


LESSON  YII. — CHOEus  of  flowees. 

1.  We  are  the  sweet  flowers\ 
Bom  of  sunny  showers^ ; 

(Think,  whene'er  you  see  us,  what  our  beauty  saith)  ; 

Utterance,  mute  and  bright. 

Of  some  unknown  delight, 
We  fill  the  air  with  pleasure'  by  our  simple  breath^ : 

All  who  see  us'  love^  us — 

We  befit  all  places^ ; 
Unto  sorrow  we  give  smiles' — and,  unto  graces,  races^. 

2.  Think  of  all  our  treasures^ 
Matchless  works  and  pleasures^ 

Every  one  a  marvel,  more  than  thought  can  say^ ; 

Then  think  in  what  bright  showers 

We  thicken  fields  and  bowers\ 
And  with  what  heaps  of  sweetness  half  stifle  wanton  May' ; 

Think  of  the  mossy  forests 

By  the  bee-birds  haunted^ 
And  all  those  Amazonian  plains,  lone  lying  as  enchanted. 

3.  Trees  themselves  are  ours^ ; 
Fruits  are  born  of  flowers  ;^ 

Beech\  and  roughest  nut',  were  blossoms'  in  the  spring' ; 

The  lusty  bee  knows  well 

The  news,  and  comes  pell-mell, 
And  dances  in  the  gloomy  thicks  with  darksome  antheming : 

Beneath  the  very  burden 

Of  planet-pressing  ocean 
We  wash  our  smiling  cheeks  in  peace — a  thought  for  meek  devotioxir 

4.  Who  shall  say  that  flowers 
Dress  not  heaven's  own  bowers'  ? 

Who  its  love,  without  us,  can  fancy — or  sweet  floor'? 


168 


WILLSON's   FIFl'H    liEADEK. 


Part  IV. 


Who  shall  even  dare 

To  say  we  sprang  not  there — 
And  came  not  down,  that  Love  might  bring  one  piece  of  heaven  the 

Oh !  pray  believe  that  angels  [more'  ? 

From  those  blue  dominions 
Brought  us  in  their  white  laps  down,  'twixt  their  golden  pinions. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


LESSON"   VIII. THE   CACTUS   FAMILY. 

["RxooENOtTS  or  DiooTTLEDONOus  ;  Angiospcrms ;  Poli/petalous.'] 


'm^^^4, 


1.  Cac'tus  hexacio'nus^  Four-angled  cactus,  xi.  1,  w.,a6  f.,  Jl.-Au.,  S.  Am.  2.  C.  speci- 
osis'siimis^  Beautiful  cactus,  xL  1,  cr.,  3  f.,  Jl.,  S.  Am.  3.  C.  flaffdli/or'viis^  Creeping  or 
Fnake  cactus,  xi.  1,  pk.,  6  f.,  M.-Jn.,  Peru.  4.  C.  opuntin^  Prickly-pear  cactus,  xi.  1,  y , 
2  f.,  Jl.-Au.,  Mexico.  5.  C.  curaasa'vicus^  Pin-pillow  cactu-s  xi.  1,  y.,  6  f.,  Jn.-Jl.,  S.  Am. 
6.  C.  pcreH'kiOy  Gooseberry  cactus,  xi.  1,  w.,  5  f,  O.-N.,  W.  Indies.  7.  C.  phj/llanthoi'des^ 
Winged  cactus,  xi.  1,  pk.,  2  f,,  Jn.,  W.  Indies.  8.  Echinocae'tus  mammillarioi' des^  Melon 
cactu.^,  xi.  1,  y.  and  r.,  6  in,  Jl.-Au.,  Chili. 

1.  "Who  hung  thy  beauty  on  such  rugged  stalk', 
Thou  glorious  flower'  ? 

Who  poured  the  richest  hues, 
In  varying  radiance,  o'er  thy  ample  brow. 
And,  like  a  mesh,  those  tissued  Btamcns  laid 
Upon  thy  crimson  lip'  ? 

lionc,  o'er  thy  lenfloss  stem. 
Thou  bidd'st  the  queenly  rose,  with  all  her  buds, 
Do  homage\  and  the  green-house  peerage  bow 
Their  rainbow  coronets."'— Mrs.  iSiaocRNBr. 

2.  Thus  beautifully  writes  an  American 
poetess  of  a  beautiful  flower  of  the  rough 
^^acritns'fl'oweJ-'^f uieVpl  cactus  family.     And  this  family  is  exclu- 
per  Mifwonri  sively  American,  not  one  of  its  eight  hund- 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  159 

red  species  having  ever  been  found,  as  native,  in  any  other 
part  of  the  world.  The  name  by  which  the  kinds  of  cactus 
common  in  the  Northern  and  Middle  States  are  known,  is 
prickly  pear.  The  absence  of  leaves  in  most  of  the  species, 
and  the  presence  of  very  showy  flowers,  render  this  family  re- 
markable. The  plants  consist  chiefly  of  a  fleshy  stem,  some- 
times globular  or  egg-shaped,  sometimes  cylindrical,  triangu- 
lar, and  even  flat,  but  always  armed  with  prickles. 

3.  The  cactus  is  found  abundantly  in  Mexico,  and  is  paint- 
ed on  the  flag  of  the  Mexicans,  and  stamped  on  their  money ; 
Of  its  many  species,  the  niglit-hlooming  cereus^  is  perhaps  the 
most  remarkable,  not  so  much  on  account  of  its  large  white 
flower,  although  that  is  sometimes  nearly  a  foot  in  diameter, 
as  for  the  season  of  its  unfolding  its  beauties,  the  short  time 
which  it  takes  to  expand,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  it  de- 
cays. It  begins  to  open  late  in  the  evening,  flourishes  for  an 
hour  or  two,  then  begins  to  droop,  and  before  morning  is 
completely  dead. 

4.  "Now  departs  day's  garishs  light — 

Beauteous  flower',  lift  thy  head'  ! 
Bise  upon  the  brow  of  night^  1 

Haste,  thy  transient  lustre  shed^  I 

6.  Night  has  dropp'd  her  dusky  veil — 

All  vain  thoughts  be  distant  far, 
While,  with  silent  awe,  we  hail 
Flora's  radiant  evening  star. 

6.  See  to  life  her  beauties  start^ ; 

Hail !  thou  glorious,  matchless  flower^  1 
Much  thou  sayest  to  the  heart 
In  this  solemn,  fleeting  hour. 

7.  Ere  we  have  our  homage  paid', 

Thou  wilt  bow  thy  head  and  die* ; 
Thus  our  sweetest  pleasures  fade\ 
Thus  our  brightest  blessings  fly\ 

8.  Sorrow's  rugged  stem,  like  thine', 

Bears  a  flower  thus  purely  bright' ; 
Thus,  when  sunny  hours  decline. 
Friendship  sheds  her  cheering  light." 

9.  Other  species  of  the  cactus,  more  delicate  in  structure 
than  the  famous  cereus^  already  described,  a  few  of  them  leafy, 
some  of  them  creeping  plants,  and  most  of  them  remarkable 
for  their  beauty  and  fi-agrance,  also  bloom  in  the  night  sea- 
son ;  and  it  is  one  of  these  which  has  been  made  the  medium, 
by  a  gifted  writer,  of  conveying  the  following  beautiful  moral : 

UNPRETENDING  WORTH. 

10.  Come,  look  at  this  plant,  with  its  narrow,  pale  leaves. 

And  its  tall,  thin,  delicate  stem, 
Thinly  studded  with  flowers— yes,  with  flowers — there  they  are ; 
Don't  you  see,  at  each  joint  there's  a  little  brown  star'  ? 

But,  in  truth,  there's  no  beauty  in  them'. 


160  willson's  fefth  header.  Part  IV. 

11.  So  you  ask  why  I  keep  it — the  little  mean  thing'  ? 

Why  I  stick  it  up  here,  just  in  sight'  ? 
'Tia  a  fancy^  of  mine.     A  strange  fancy,  you  gay. 
No  accounting  for  tastes — in  this  instance  you  may, 

For  the  flower.    But  I'll  tell  you  to-night. 

12.  Some  six  hours  hence,  when  the  lady  moon 

Looks  down  on  that  bastioned  wall, 
When  the  twinkling  stars  glance  silently 
On  the  rippling  surface  of  the  sea, 

And  heavy  the  night  dews  fall— 

15.  Then  meet  me  again  in  this  casement  niche, 

On  this  spot — nay,  do  not  say  no, 
Nor  question  me  wherefore  ;  perhaps  with  me 
To  look  out  on  the  night,  and  the  bright  broad  sea, 

And  to  hear  its  majestic  flow. 
•  •  «  «  «  ,    • 

14.  Well,  we're  met  here  again,  and  the  moonlight  sleeps 

On  the  sea  and  the  bastioned  wall ; 
And  the  flowers  there  below— how  the  night  wind  brings 
Their  delicious  breath  on  its  dewy  wing^  ; 

But  there's  one,  say  you,  sweeter  than  all. 

16.  What  is  it'  ?  the  myrtle  or  jessamine'  ?* 

Or  their  sovereign  lady,  the  rose'  ? 
Or  the  heliotrope,  or  the  virgin's  bower'  ? 
What^ !  neither'  ?    Oh,  no,  tis  some  other  flower, 

Far  sweeter  than  any  of  those. 

16.  Far  sweeter'  ?    And  where  think  you  groweth  the  plant 

r  That  exhaleth  that  perfume  rare^  ? 

^  Look  about,  up  and  down,  but  take  care,  or  you'll  break 

With  your  elbow  that  poor  little  thing  that's  so  weak. 
Why,  'tis  that  smells  so  sweet,  I  declare^ ! 

IT.  Ah  ha !  is  it  tMt'  T    Have  you  found  out  now 

Why  I  cherish  that  odd  little  fright'  ? 
All  is  not  gold  that  glittere,  you  know. 
And  it  is  not  all  worth  makes  the  greatest  show. 
In  the  glare  of  the  strongest  light'. 

18.  There  are  human  flowers,  full  many,  I  trow,* 

As  unlovely  as  that  by  your  side. 
That  a  common  observer  passeth  by 
With  a  scornful  lip  and  a  careless  eye. 

In  the  heyday  of  pleasure  and  pride. 

19.  But  move  one  of  these  to  some  quiet  ppnt 

lYom  the  midday  sun's  broad  glare. 
Where  domestic  peace  broods  with  dove-like  wing. 
And  try  if  the  homely,  despised  thing 

May  not  yield  sweet  fragrance  there. 

20.  Or  wait  till  the  days  of  trial  come, 

Tlie  dark  days  of  trouble  and  woe, 
,     WTien  they  shrink  and  shut  up,  late  so  bright  in  the  sun  ; 
Then  turn  to  tlic  little  despised  one. 
And  see  if 'twill  serve  you  so. 

21.  And  judge  not  again,  at  a  single  glance, 

Nor  pass  sentence  hastily. 
There  are  many  good  things  in  this  world  of  ours, 
Many  sweet  things  and  rare,  weeds  that  prove  precious  flowers, 

Little  dreamt  of  by  you  or  by  me.— Mrs.  Soctiiey. 

1  C8b'-o-nkt,  a  little  crown.  |3  Oae'-ibii,  gaudy  ;  splendid. 

2  Ce'-beCs  (s«?'-rwjje),  in  two  syllables.  |*  TrOw,  suppose  or  think. 

•  Equivalent  to,  "  Do  you  ask, '  What  is  it'  ?  the  myrtle  or  Je.<«amine'  T  "  etc.,  similar 
to  the  questions  in  the  eleventh  verse ;  and  therefore  they  take  the  rising  inflection. 


2d  Div.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE  PHYSIOLOGY,  OR  BOTANY. 


161 


LESSON"  IX. — ^LEGUMINOUS   AND   UMBELLIFEROUS  PLANTS. 

[Exogenous  or  Dicotyledon ottb;  Angiosperms;  Polypetalous.'} 


UmbelliferouB  Family. 


Leguminous  Family. 


1.  Lupi'nns  peren'nis^  Wild  lupine,  xvi.  10,  b.,  18  in.,  My.-JL,  N.  Am.  2.  Erythri'na 
herba'cea^  Herbaceous  corol-tree,  xvi.  10,  s.,  3  f.,  Jn.-S.,  Carolina.  3.  Rohin'ia  pseic'do 
aca'cia^  Locust-tree,  xvi.  10,  pu.,  40  f. ,  My.-Jn.,  N.  Am.  4.  Mimo'sa  sensiti'va,  Sensitive 
plant,xv.l0,pk.,18  in.,  A.-S.,  Brazil.  5.  Hcematox'ylon  Campechia'nrirn,  Logwood,  x. 
1,  y.,  20  f.,  J.-Jl.,  S.  Am.  6.  Indigo'/era  stric'ta^  Upiight  indigo,  xvi.  10,  pu.,  3  f.,  Jl.- 
Au.,  C.  Good  Hope.  7.  Dau'cus  caro'ta,  Wild  carrot  (also  cultivated),  v.  2,  w.,  3  f.,  Jn.- 
Jl.,  Europe.  8.  Si'um  latifo'lium,  Water  parsnip,  v.  2,  w.,  3  f.,  Jl.-Au.,  N.  Am.  9.  Co'- 
niwm  macula' ttim^  Poison  hemlock,  v.  2,  w.,  4  f.,  Jn.-Jl.,  Europe.  10.  A'pium  grave</- 
Uns,  Garden  celery,  v.  2,  w.,  4  f.,  Jn.-Au.,  Europe. 

1.  The  leguminous^  or  pod-bearing 
plants  comprise  a  large  family,  highly- 
useful  to  mankind,  and  some  of  whose 
species  are  familiar  to  all.  They  are 
characterized  either  by  a  papiliona- 
ceous^  corolla  or  a  leguminous  fruit.  • 
The  pea,  the  bean,  locust,  clover,  and 
lupine  are  familiar  examples  in  northern 
regions ;  and  the  acacias,  mimosas,  log- 
wood, rosewood,  sandal -wood,  corol- 
trees,  and  indigo  plants,  in  tropical 
1.  Legum  ■  of  pea,  open.  2  and  couutrics.  Many  of  the  Valuable  gums 
8.  Papilionaceous  corollas,     and  balsams*  of  commcrce,  medicines,* 


162  willson's  fifth  reader.  Fart  IV. 

and  coloring  materials*  are  obtained  from  this  numerous 
family. 

2.  As  objects  of  ornament,  many  of  these  plants  are  possess- 
ed of  unrivaled  beauty,  and  are  favorites  in  our  green-houses  ; 
but  it  is  in  tropical  countries  that  they  appear  in  their  great- 
est splendor.  There,  flowers  of  the  corol-tree,  of  the  deepest 
crimson,  fill  the  forests,  and  climbing  plants  of  every  hue 
hang  in  festoons  from  branch  to  branch ;  the  acacias,  with 
their  trembling  airy  foliage,  and  often  truly  golden  flowers, 
cast  a  charm  over  even  the  most  sterile  regions  of  the  tropics ; 
while  the  pastures  and  meadows  of  the  same  latitudes  are 
enameled  with  the  flowers  of  myriads  of  hedysarums,  and  ani- 
mated by  the  wonderful  motion  of  the  mimosas^  or  sensitive 
plants. 

3.  Who  has  not  read  Shelley's  beautiful  little  poem,  begin- 
ning, 

"  A  sensitive  plant  in  a  garden  grew. 
And  the  young  winds  fed  it  with  silver  dew, 
And  it  sjiread  its  fanlike  leaves  to  the  light, 
And  closed  them  beneath  the  kisses  of  night." 

The  sensitive  plants,  often  cultivated  in  gardens  as  objects  of 
curiosity,  shrink  from  the  touch,  and  make  a  variety  of  move- 
ments under  the  varying  influences  of  shade  and  sunlight,  like 
beings  endowed  with  rational  life. 

Weak  with  nice  sense,  the  chaste  imimosa  stand?, 

From  each  rude  touch  withdraws  her  timid  hands ; 

Oft,  as  light  clouds  o'erpaps  the  summer's  glade, 

Alarm'd  phe  trembles  at  the  nioming  shade, 

And  feels,  alive  through  all  her  tender  form. 

The  whisper'd  murmurs  of  the  gathering  storm  ; 

Shuts  her  sweet  eyelids  to  approaching  night. 

And  hails,  with  freshen'd  charms,  the  rosy  light.— Dabwin. 

The  cause  of  the  peculiar  motions  of  these  plants  has  been  a 
subject  of  much  investigation,  but  the  question  still  continues 
to  be  asked,  without  any  very  satisfactory  answer. 

Whence  does  it  happen  that  the  plant  wljich  well 

We  name  the  sensitivCy  should  move  and  feel'  ? 

Whenc  ■  know  her  leaves  to  answer  her  command. 

And  with  quick  horror  fly  the  approaching  hand'  ? — Priob. 

4.  The  umbelliferous^  plants,  also  a  large  family,  mostly 
natives  of  temperate  regions,  and  distinguished  for  their  um- 
bel or  umbrella-shaped  flowers,  like  those  of  the  carrot,  pre- 
sent some  very  strange  contrasts  of  character.   While  in  their 

•  Such  H8  gum  Arabic,  produced  by  the  acacia  Arabica  ;  gum  lac ;  gum  Senegal ;  gum 
tragnca^nth ;  gum  kino;  balsams  of  copalva  and  Peru  ;  and  a  hedysarura  which  produces 
vmwn. 

^  The  senna  df  commerce ;  licorice ;  cowitclj,  which  consista  of  the  Btinglng  hairs  of 
the  pods  of  a  plant ;  etc. 

*  Brazil  wood  ;    logwood  ;  red  sandal-wood ;  indigo,  etc. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  163 

native  ditches  they  are  often  suspicious,  and  perhaps  poison- 
ous weeds,  under  the  influence  of  cultivation  many  of  them 
lay  aside  their  venom,  and  become  wholesome  food  for  man. 
Thus  a  coarse  bitter  wild  weed  becomes  by  cultivation  the 
sweet  and  crisp  garden  celery ;  the  garden  parsnip  is  nearly  al- 
lied to  the  poisonous  cicuta;  and  while  the  seeds  of  the  garden 
fennel  are  a  pleasant  spice,  the  juice  from  the  roots  of  another 
species  of  the  same  plant  produces  the  loathsome  asafoetida. 

5.  Only  slightly  divergent  from  the  umbelliferous  plants, 
and  by  many  botanists  included  among  them,  are  the  ivy- 
loorts,  at  the  head  of  which  stands  the  common  ivy : 

"  The  unqraleful  ivy,  seen  to  grow 
Round  the  tall  oak,  that  six-score  years  has  stood. 

And  proudly  shoot  a  leaf  or  two 
Above  its  kind  supporter's  utmost  bough, 
And  glory  there  to  stand,  the  loftiest  of  the  wood." 

6.  But,  however  ungrateful  it  mSy  be,  the  ivy  is  a  valuable 
ornamental  evergreen  for  covering  naked  buildings,  trees,  and 
ruins,  to  which  it  attaches  itself  by  short  fibres.  The  ancients 
held  ivy  in  great  esteem ;  and  Bacchus,  -the  god  of  wine,  is 
represented  as  crowned  with  it  to  prevent  intoxication.  The 
modern  associations  connected  with  this  plant  are  very  hap- 
pily set  forth  in  the  following  song  to  The  Ivy  Geeen. 

7.  Oh  1  a  dainty  plant  is  the  ivy  green, 

That  creepeth  o'er  ruins  old  ! 
Of  right  choice  food  are  his  meals,  I  ween, 

In  his  cell  so  lone  and  cold. 
The  walls  must  be  crumbled,  the  stones  decayed, 

To  pleasure  his  dainty  whim ; 
And  the  mould' ring  dust  that  years  have  made 
Is  a  merry  meal  for  him. 

Creeping  where  no  life  is  seen, 
A  rare  old  plant  is  the  ivy  green. 

8.  Fast  he  stealeth  on,  though  he  wears  no  Avings, 

And  a  stanch  old  heart  has  he! 
How  closely  he  twineth,  how  tight  he  clings 

To  his  friend,  the  huge  oak  tree  ! 
And  slyly  he  traileth  along  the  ground, 

And  his  leaves  he  gently  waves. 
And  he  joyously  twines  and  hugs  around 
The  rich  mould  of  dead  men's  graves. 
Creeping  where  no  life  is  seen, 
A  rare  old  plant  is  the  ivy  green. 

9.  Whole  ages  have  fled,  and  their  works  decayed, 

And  nations  scuttered  been  ; 
But  the  stout  old  ivy  shall  never  fade 

From  its  hale  and  hearty  green. 
The  brave  old  plant  in  its  lonely  days 

Shall  fatten  upon  the  past ; 
For  the  stateliest  building  man  can  raise 
Is  the  ivy's  food  at  last. 

Creeping  where  no  life  is  seen, 

A  rare  old  plant  is  the  ivy  green. — Ciiaeles  Dickens. 

1  Le-qu'-mi-nou8  plants  are  such  as  have  for  3  Um-uel-lif'-er  ous  plants  are  such  as  have 
their  seed  vessel  a  legume  of  two  halves,  the  mode  of  inflorescence,  or  flowering,  call- 
such  as  the  pods  of  peas,  beans,  etc.  ed  an  timbel,  like  the  carrot. 

a  Pa-pil-i-o-na'-oe-oub,  resembling  the  but- 
terfly. I 


164 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Pakt  IV. 


LES.  X. — THE   COMPOSITE,  OR   SUNFLOWER  FAMILY. 

[Exogenous  or  DiooTYLEDONOus;  Angiosperms;  Sfonojyetahus.y 


1.  Cni'cua  altis'fsimus^  Tall  thistle,  xvii.  1.,  pu.,  G  f.,  Aii.-S.,  N.  Am.  2.  Cni'ctis  arven'- 
«i«,  Canada  thistle, xviL  1,  pu.,  2  f.,  Jl.,  N.  Am.  3.  Helian'lhus  multijlo'rus^  Many-flowered 
sunflower,  xvii.  3,  y.,  6  f,  Au.-O.,  N.  Am.  4.  Chrysnn'themum  Sinen'se^  Chinese  chry- 
Banthemuni,  xvii.  2  (all  colors  but  blue),  3  f.,  O.-N.,  China.  5.  Lactu'ca  sagitta'ta.  Arrow- 
leaved  Lettuce,  xvii.  1,  y.,  2  f.,  Jl.-Au.,  Hungary.  6.  Giiapha'lium  stce'chas,  Kuropean 
shrubby  everlasting,  xvii.  2,  y.,  2  f.,  Jn.-O.,  i'.urope.  7.  As'ter  Chiwn'sia^  China-ai"ter, 
xvii.  2,  various  colors,  2  f.,  Jl.-S.,  China.  8.  DaJi'Uafntslra'nea,  Wild  dahlia,  xvii.  2, 
various  colors,  6  f.,  S.-N.,  Mexico.  9.  Tage'tespat'ula^  French  marigold,  xviL,  2,  y.,  2  f. , 
Jh-O.,  Mexico. 

1.  The  ^^ Sunflower'^  family  is  the  name  used  by  that  distin- 
guished American  botanist,  Professor  Gray,  as  a  popular  term 
for  the  great  division  of  plants  having  composite  or  compound 
flowers.  It  is  the  largest  family  of  plants,  embracing  nearly 
ten  thousand  species,  or  about  one  tenth  of  all  the  species  of 
the  vegetable  kingdom.  They  are  either  herbaceous  or  shrub- 
by plants  in  northern  regions,  but  many  of  them  become  trees 
in  the  tropics ;  and  a]l  of  them  are  easily  distinguished  by  hav- 
ing their  single  or  monopetalous^  flowers  (called^//ord^A'),tS'hich 
are  always  flve-lobed,  and  have  five  stamens  each,  crowded 
into  a  head  at  the  top  of  a  flower-stalk,  as  in  the  daisy,  dan- 
delion, sunflower,  and  thistle. 

2.  These  composite  plants  are,  without  exception,  of  easy 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  165 

cultivation;  and  as  most  of  them  flow- 
er in  autumn,  they  are  the  chief  prna- 
ments  of  every  autumnal  garden.  It 
would  require  a  volume  to  point  out 
the  beauties  of  the  various  tribes  of 
aster,  sunflower,  coreopsis,  marigold, 
daisy,  chrysanthemum,  and  kindred 
species,  not  to  mention  the  almost  in- 
numerable and  brilliant  varieties  of 
the  dahlia.  As  to  the  medicinal  qual- 
ities of  the  plants  of  this  family,  it  is 
sufficient  to  state  that  they  consist, 
almost  without  exception,  of  a  bitter 
principle  and  an  oily  secretion;  and 
Cultivated  Dahlia.  ^^^^^  former,  at  least,  we  have  abund- 

ant evidence  in  such  species  as  wormwood,  chamomile,  dan- 
delion, and  tansy. 

3.  The  dandelion  was  one  of  the  flowers  introduced  by  Lin- 
naeus into  his,  Jloral  clock,  or  dial  of  flowers,  on  account  of  the 
regularity  of  the  opening  and  closing  of  its  petals.  It  was 
deemed  by  him  "  Flora's  best  time-piece,  seeming  of  herself 
to  know  the  opening  and  the  closing  of  the  day,"  inasmuch 
as 

''With  Sol's  expanding  beam  her  flowers  unclose, 
And  rising  Hesper^  lights  them  to  repose ;" 

and  Moore  has  very  prettily  expressed  the  same  idea  in  the 
following  lines : 

"  She,  enamored  of  the  sun, 
At  his  departure  hangs  her  head  and  weeps, 
And  shrouds  her  sweetness  up,  and  keeps 

Sad  vigils,  lilce  a  cloistered  nun. 

Till  his  reviving  ray  appeal's, 
Waking  her  beauty  as  he  dries  her  tears." 

4.  The  marigold  not  only  marked  one  of  the  hours  in  the 
floral  clock,  but  she  is  said  also,  like  the  sunflower  itself,  to 
turn  on  her  slender  stem  toward  the  sun,  and  thus  follow  him 
in  his  daily  walk. 

"When,  with  a  serious  musing,  I  behold 
The  grateful  and  obsequious  marigold. 
How  duly,  eveiy  morning,  she  displays 
Her  open  breast  when  Pl)oebus3  spreads  his  rays' ; 
How  she  observes  him  in  his  daily  walk, 
Still  bending  tow'  rd  him  her  small  slender  stalk' ; 
How,  when  he  down  declines,  she  droops  and  mourns, 
Bedew' d  as  'twere  with  tears,  till  he  returns'; 
And  how  she  veils  her  flowers  when  he  is  gone, 
As  if  she  scorned  to  be  look'd  upon 
By  an  inferior  eye' ;  or  did  contemn 
To  wait  upon  a  meaner  light  than  him' : 

5.  When  this  I  meditate,  methinks  the  flowf  rs 
Have  spirits  far  more  generous  than  ourn, 


166 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   READER. 


Part  IV. 


And  give  ua  fair  examples  to  despise 
The  Hervile  fawnings  and  idolatrierf 
Wherewitli  we  court  the^e  earthly  things  below 
Which  merit  not  the  service  we  bestow': 
But  oh,  my  God !  though  gi-oveling  I  appear 
Upon  the  ground,  and  have  a  rooting  here 
Which  hales*  me  downward,  yet  in  my  desire 
To  that  which  is  above  me  I  as-pire, 
And  all  my  best  affections  I  profess 
To  Him  that  is  the  Sun  of  Righteousness." 

6.  The  daisy ^  too,  whose  English  name  is  de- 
rived from  a  Saxon  word  meaning  day'^s  eye, 
closes  its  petals  at  night  and  in  rainy  weather. 

When,  smitten  by  the  morning  ray, 
I  see  thee  rise,  alert  and  gay, 
Then,  cheerful  flower' !  my  spirits  play 
With  kindred  gladness': 

And  when,  at  dark,  by  dews  oppressed, 
Thou  sink' St',  the  image  of  thy  rest 
Hath  often  eased  my  pensive  breast 

Of  careful  sadness' — Woedswoeth. 

7.  The  daisy  has  been  universally  admired  as 
an  emblem  of  modest  innocence ;  but,  lowly  and 
modest  though  it  be,  it  has  enough  of  mystery 
in  its  wonderful  structure  "  to  confound  the 
atheist's  sophistries,"  and  prove  the  being  of  a 
God. 

Not  worlds  on  worlds  in  phalanx  deep, 
Need  we  to  prove  that  God  is  here ; 
The  daisy,  fresh  from  winter's  sleep, 
Tells  of  his  hand  in  lines  as  clear. 

For  who  but  he  who  arched  the  skies, 
And  pours  the  day-spring's  living  flood. 
Wondrous  alike  in  all  he  tries, 
Could  rear  the  daisy's  purple  bud ; 

Mould  its  green  cup,  its  wiry  stem, 
Its  fringed  border  nicely  spin. 
And  cut  the  gold-embossed  gem 
That,  set  in  silver,  gleams  within ; 

And  fling  it,  unrestrained  and  free, 
^  O'er  hill,  and  dale,  and  desert  sod, 

That  man,  where'er  he  walks,  may  see 

At  every  step  the  stamp  of  God — -John  Mason  Good. 

12.  The  thistle,  another  of  the  sunflower  tribe,  though  a 
prickly  and  not  very  graceful  weed,  has  given  its  name  to  a 
Scotch  order  of  knighthood.  It  might  be  said  the  Scotch  or- 
der, as  it  also  bears  the  name  of  St.  Andrew,  the  patron  saint 
of  Scotland.  The  golden  collar  of  the  order,  interlaced  with 
flowers  of  the  thistle,  and  bearing  the  motto,  in  Latin,  ^'-None 
shall  annoy  me  xoith  impunity^'*  has  also  been  adopted  as  the 
national  badge.  Tradition  gives  the  following  account  of  its 
origin : 

13.  "  At  the  time  of  the  invasion  of  Scotland  by  the  Danes, 


Bel'lis  peren'nis, 
English  Daisy, 
xvii.  2,  w.  and  v., 
3  in.,  M. -A.,  Bri- 
tain. 

a 


la 


11. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  167 

it  was  deemed  unwarlike  to  attack  an  enemy  in  the  night ; 
but  on  one  occasion  the  invaders  resolved  to  avail  themselves 
of  this  stratagem ;  and,  in  order  to  prevent  their  tramp  from 
being  heard,  they  marched  barefooted.  They  had  thus  near- 
ed  the  Scottish  force  unobserved,  when  a  Dane  unfortunately 
stepped  with  his  naked  foot  upon  a  superb  thistle^  and  in- 
stinctively uttering  a  cry  of  pain,  discovered  the  assault  to 
the  Scots,  who  ran  to  their  arms,  and  defeated  the  foe  with  a 
terrible  slaughter.  The  thistle  was  immediately  adopted  as 
the  insignia  of  Scotland." 

14.  Triumphant  be  the  thistle  still  unfurled, 

Dear  symbol  wild' !  on  freedom's  hills  it  grows, 
Where  Fingal  stemmed  the  tyrants  of  the  world, 
And  Roman  eagles  found  unconquer'd  foes. — Campbell. 

15.  But  the  downy  seed  of  the  thistle  flower,  so  light  as  to 
be  borne  about  on  the  wings  of  every  wanton  zephyr,  may 
also,  it  seems,  be  connected  with  less  lofty  associations,  for  it 
has  been  made  the  emblem  of  fickleness  itself,  as  the  follow- 
ing fable  will  show : 

16.  As  Cupid  was  flying  about  one  day, 

With  the  flowers  and  zephyrs  in  wanton  play, 

He  'spied  in  the  air. 

Floating  here  and  there, 
A  winged  seed  of  the  thistle  flower, 
And  merrily  chased  it  from  bower  to  bower. 

17.  And  young  Love  cried  to  his  playmates,  "  See, 
I've  found  the  true  emblem  flower  for  me, 

For  I  am  as  light 

In  my  wavering  flight 
As  this  feathery  star  of  soft  thistle-down, 
Which  by  each  of  you  zephyrs  about  is  blown. 

18.  "  See  how  from  a  rose's  soft  warm  blush 
It  flies,  to  be  caught  in  a  bramble  bush ; 

And  as  oft  do  I, 

In  my  wand'rings,  hie 
From  beauty  to  those  who  have  none,  I  trow ; 
Reckless  as  thistle-down,  on  I  go." 

19.  So  the  sly  little  god  still  flits  away 

'Mid  earth's  loveliest  flow'rets,  day  by  day ; 

And  oh  !  maidens  fair. 

Never  weep,  nor  care 
When  his  light  wings  waft  him  beyond  your  power, 
Think — 'tis  only  the  down  of  the  thistle  flower. — Twamley. 

20.  In  all  ages  of  the  world  history  and  fable  have  attach- 
ed to  flowers  particular  associations,  and  made  them  emblem- 
atical of  the  afiections  of  the  heart  and  qualities  of  the  intel- 
lect. In  the  symbolical  language  of  flowers,  the  thistle,  re- 
garded as  a  misanthrope,^  bears  the  very  appropriate  motto, 
"  Oh  that  the  desert  were  my  dwelling-place !" 

1  Mon-o-pet'-al-O08  plants  are  those  whose  1 3  Pnos'-nus  (fe'-bus),  the  sun. 

flowers  have  but  one  petal  or  flower  leaf.  *  Hales,  drags. 
8  Hbs'-pbb,  Venus,  or  the  evening  star.         |^  Mis'-an-thbopb,  a  hater  of  mankind. 


168 


willson's  fifth  eeadeb. 


Part  IV. 


LES.  XI. — jessamine/  honeysuckle,  and  heath  families. 

[Exogenous  or  Dioottledonous  ;  Angiogpermfl  ;  3fonopetalous.i 


Honeysuckle  Family.  Je.ssamine  Family. 

1.  Jasnii'num  sanibac^  Single  Arabian  jasmine,  ii.  1,  w.,  6  f.,  J.-D.,  E.  Indies.  2.  J, 
trifolia'tuvi^  Double  Tuscan  jasmine,  ii.  1,  w.,  6  f.,  J.-D.,  E.  Indies.  3.  J.  frti'ticans. 
Common  yellow  jasmine,  ii,  1,  y.,  3  f.,  A.-O.,  S.  Europe.  4.  J.  revolu'tum.  Curl-flowered 
jasmine,  ii.  1,  y.,  12  f. ,  M.-O.,  E.  Indies.  5.  Lonice'ra  sevipervi'revs.  Trumpet  honey- 
suckle, V.  1,  r.  and  y.,  15  f,,  My.-Au.,  N.  Am.  6.  L.  pericly'menurn.  Woodbine,  v.  1,  20  f., 
My.-Jl.,  Britain.  7.  L.  fla'va^  Yellow  honeysuckle,  v.  1,  y.,  10  f.,  My.-Jn.,  Carolina.  8. 
L.  ru'bra^  Italian iioneysuckle,  v.  1,  r.,  10  f.,  My.-JL,  Italy. 

1.  Anp  luxuriant  above  all, 
The  jnsmine^'^  throwing  wide  her  elegant  sweets. 
The  deep  dark  green  of  wha«o  unvarniyh'd  leaf 
Maki>s  more  conspicuous,  and  illumine.s  more 

The  bright  profusion  of  her  scatter' d  stai-s.— Cowpeb. 

2.  About  one  hundred  species  of  ornamental  shrubs,  with 
exquisitely  fragrant  flowers,  belong  to  the  jessamine  family. 
Originally  tropical  plants,  they  are  now  extensively  cultivated 
in  our  gardens  and  green-houses.  Fragrance^  their  predom- 
inant property,  has  n»ade  them  for  ages  the  favorites  of  poets 
and  of  the  people.  The  very  name  comes  from  a  Greek  word 
which  means  perfume.  The  white  jessamine  especially,  from 
which  a  costly  oil  is  extracted,  is  very  fragrant  at  night. 
Some  of  the  species  open  only  during  the  night,  and  fade  at 
sunrise ;  and  it  is  to  these  that  Moore  alludes  in  the  follow- 
ing lines : 


2d  DiV.  pF  .  .  VEGETABLE  PHYSIOLOGY,  OK  BOTANY.  169 

3.  "  'Twas  midnight ;  through  the  lattice,  ■wreathed 

With  woodbine,  many  a  perfume  breathed 

From  plants  that  wake  when  others  sleep  ; 

From  timid  jasmine  buds  that  keep 

Their  odor  to  themselves  all  day ; 

But,  when  the  sunlight  dies  away, 

Let  the  delicious  secret  out 

To  every  breeze  that  roams  about." 

4.  A  twining  evergreen  plant,  improperly  called  jessamine, 
grows  abundantly  in  the  Southern  States  south  of  Richmond, 
Virginia,  spreading  over  the  hedges,  and,  in  still  more  south- 
ern latitudes,  hanging  in  graceful  festoons  from  the  tallest 
trees.  It  is  said  that  children  are  frequently  poisoned  by 
chewing  its  pretty  yellow  flowers.  This  is  the  gelsemium^ 
and  has  five  stamens,  by  which  it  may  be  known  from  the 
true  jessamine,  which  has  only  two. 

5.  ThQ  honeysuckle  or  woodbifie  family  ernhrsLces  over  two 
hundred  species  of  mostly  twining  plants,  valuable  in  the 
flower  garden,  shrubbery,  and  against  walls  and  over  arbors. 
The  honeysuckle,  "  which  is  fair  as  fragrant,"  is  so  much  cul- 
tivated that  it  has  almost  become  a  domestic  in  every  house- 
hold. 

6.  *'  See  the  honeysuckle  twine 

Round  the  casement :  'tis  a  shrine 
Where  the  heart  doth  incense  give, 
And  the  pure  aflfections  live. 
Blessed  shrine  !  dear,  blissful  home  ! 
Source  whence  happiness  doth  come  ! 
Round  the  cheerful  hearth  we  meet 
All  things  beauteous — all  things  sweet." 

7.  It  was  said,  in  an  ancient  fable,  that  this  feeble  plant, 
rapidly  shooting  into  the  air,  aimed  to  overtop  the  oak,  the 
king  of  the  forest ;  but,  as  if  its  efforts  were  unavailing,  it  soon 
recoiled,  and  with  graceful  negligence  adorned  its  friendly 
supporter  with  elegant  festoons  and  perfumed  garlands.  In 
this  same  family  are  included  the  elder,  snowberry,  and  snow- 
ball— the  latter  being  known  by  some  as  the  Guelder-rose. 
Thus  that  popular  writer,  Miss  Landon,  alludes  to  its  blos- 
soms as 

"  The  balls  that  hang  like  drifted  snow 
Upon  ihe  Guelder-rose.'^ 

8.  What  is  known  as  the  swamp  honeysuckle  in  the  United 
States  is  a  species  of  azalea,  which  belongs  to  the  numerous 
and  eminently  beautiful  family  of  the  Heaths.  The  low 
shrubby  heaths,  which  form  one  division  of  this  family,  are 
alike  the  glory  of  Southern  Africa,  and  of  Scottish  plains  and 
hill-sides ;  and  their  culture  and  propagation  are  now  consider- 
ed, in  England,  one  of  the  most  delicate  and  delightful  branch- 
es of  the  art  of  gardening.     In  a  second  division  of  the  heath 


170  willson's  fifth  EEADEE.  Paet  IV. 

[Heath  Family. — Exogknous  or  DiooomEDONors;  AngiospemoB;  MonopetaUms.'i 


1.  Eri'ca  tet'ralix.  Cross-leaved  heath,  viii.  1,  pk.,  1  f.,  Jn.-Au.,  Scotland.  2.  Eri'ca 
cilia'ris.  Ciliated  heath,  viii.  1,  pu.,  1  f.,  J1.-S.,  Portugal.  3.  Eri'ca  cnien'fa^  liloody- 
flowered  heath,  viii.  1,  dark  red,  2  f.,  My.-S.,  S.  Africa.  4  Eri'ca  fascicula'ri%  Cluster- 
flowered  heath,  viii.  1,  pu.,  18  in.,  F.-Jn.,  S.  Africa.  6.  Eri'ca  ar' dens.  Glowing  heath, 
viii.  1,  so.,  2  f.,  A.-Jn.,  S.  Africa.  6.  Vaccin'ttim  remio'swm^  Black  whortleberry,  x.  1, 
gr.,  r.,  and  y.,  4  f.,  My.^Jn.,  N.  Am.  7.  Oaulthe'ria  procum'bens^  Spicy  wintergreen,  x. 
1,  w,,  6  in.,  Jl.-S.,  N.  Am.  8.  Aza'lea  ntiMfto'ra,,  Swamp  honeysuckle,  v.  1,  pk.,  4  f., 
My.-Jn.,  N.  Am.  9.  Kal'mia  latifo'lia.  Broad-leaved  laurel,  x.  1,  w.  and  r.,  8  f.,  My.-JL, 
N.  Am.    10.  Kal'mia  angustifo'lia^  Sheep  laurel,  x.  1,  r.,  5  f.,  My.-Jl.,  N.  Am. 

family  we  find  the  lowly  trailing  arbutus  and  wintergreen  ;  a 
third  division  is  famous  for  the  plants  which  produce  our 
cranberries  and  whortleberries  f  while  a  fouHli  embraces  those 
native  kalmias  and  rhododendrons*  of  American  forests,  which 
have  latterly  become  the  pride  of  European  gardens.  It  is  a 
species  of  the  rhododendron  which  Emerson  describes  in  the 
followins:  lines  under  the  name  of  rhodora  : 


•  The  Rhododendron  maximum,  or  Amer- 
ican Rose  Bay-tree  (x.  1,  20  f.,  rose-colored 
flowert'),  is  an  evergreen  tree,  although  it  re- 
news its  leaves  once  in  two  or  three  years.  It 
flowers  from  May  to  August,  and  is  found 
from  Long  Inland  to  Florida,  pouomlly  on  the 
borders  of  rivers  or  creeks ;  and  on  the  sides 
of  mountain  torrents  in  Virginia  it  is  so 
abundant  as  to  form  impenetrable  thickets. 

The  Kalm.ia»,  sometimes  called  Laurcln  in 
America,  arc  not  the  true  Laurels.  The 
Kal'viia  latifo'lia^  or  t^alico  bu.-'h,  which  is 
found  on  barren  bills  from  the  CaroHnas  to 
New  York,  is  an  elegant  shrub,  but  of  nox- 
ious qualities — poisonous  to  cattle  and  sheep. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE  PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  171 

9.  "  In  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 

I  found  the  fresh  rhodora  in  the  woods, 
Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 
To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook ; 
The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool, 

Made  the  black  waters  with  their  beauty  gay ; 
Here  might  the  redbu-d  come  his  plumes  to  cool. 

And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 

10.  Rhodora' !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 

This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  marsh  and  sky', 
Dear,  tell  them  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing. 
Then  beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being. 

Why  thou  wert  there,  oh  rival  of  the  rose'  I 
I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew ; 

But  in  my  simple  ignorance  suppose 
The  self-same  Power  that  brought  me  there',  brought  you''." 

11.  In  Scotland  the  poorer  people  cover  their  cabins  with 
heath,  and  the  hardy  Highlanders  often  make  their  beds  of 
it ;  hence  frequent  allusions  to  these  facts  occur  in  Scottish 
poetry.  In  Scott's  Lady  of  the  Lake,  Ellen,  the  maid  of  the 
Highlands,  thus  addresses  the  errant^  Fitz  James : 

"  Nor  think  you  unexpected  come 
To  yon  lone  L^le,  our  desert  home  ; 
Before  the  heath  had  lost  the  dew. 
This  morn  a  couch  was  pull'd  for  you  ;" 

and  when  the  stranger  was  hospitably  introduced  to  her  fa- 
ther's hall,  it  was  through  the  porch  to  which 

"  Wither' d  heath  and  rushes  dry 
Supplied  a  russet  canopy  ;" 

and  further,  the  poet,  still  drawing  a  faithful  picture  of  High- 
land life,  tells  us  that,  after  every  courteous  rite  had  been  paid, 

"  The  stranger's  bed 
Wag  there  of  mountain  heather  spread. 
Where  oft  a  hundred  guests  had  lain. 
And  dream'd  their  forest  sports  again." 

1  Written  both  Jas'-mInk  and  Je.s'-sa-mTne;|2  Whor'-tle-beb-ey  (htvur'-tl-Mr-e). 
chiefly  the  former  in  poetry.  P  Ee'-kant,  wandering  ;  roving. 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  FLOWERS. 

The  psychology^  of  flowers  has  found  many  students,  than  whom  not 
one  read  them  more  deeply  than  that  mild  spirit  (Shelley)  who  sang  of  the 
sensitive  plant,  and  in  wondrous  music  foreshadowed  his  own  misdirected 
genius  and  his  melancholy  fate.  That  martyr  to  sensibility,  Keats,  who 
longed  to  feel  the  flowers  growing  above  him,  drew  the  strong  inspiration 
of  his  volant^  muse  from  those  delicate  creations  which  exhibit  the  passage 
of  inorganic  matter  into  life ;  and  other  poets  will  have  their  sensibilities 
awakened  by  the  aesthetics^  of  flowers,  and  find  a  mirror  of  truth  in  the  crys- 
tal dew-drop  which  clings  so  lovingly  to  the  purple  violet. — Hunt's  Poetry 
of  Science. 

1  PsT-<;not,'-o-GT,  the  doctrine  of  the  mindl^  ^s-thet'-icb,  the  science  which  treats  of 
or  eoul,  as  distinct  from  the  body.  the  beautiful ;  the  philosophy  of  the  fine 

'  V5'-LAMT,  "  flying ;"  active ;  airy.  I    arts. 


172 


willson's  fifth  beadejk. 


Pakt  IV. 


LES.  XII. LABIATE   AND   TRUMPET-FLOWER   FAMILIES. 

[KxoGENOus  or  DicoTTi.EDONOus ;  Angiosperms;  Moiwjyetalous.y 


Trumpet-flower  Family.  Labiate  Family. 

1.  Eccremocar'pics  longiflo'rus.  Long-flowered  eccremocarpus,  xiii.  2,  or.,  G  f.,  Jl.-Au., 
Peru.  2.  Chelo'ne  centranthifo'lia^  (jalifomia  trumpet-flower,  xiii.  2,  sc,  7  f.,  Jl.-Au., 
Cal.    3.  Bigno'nia  grandiflo'ra^  Large  bignonia,  xiii.  2,  or.,  30-100  f.  (cultivated),  Jl.-Au., 

4.  Biqno'nia  echina'ta^  xiii.  2,  pk.,  30  f.,  Guiana.    5.  Catal'pa  cordifo'licu,  Common 

catalpa,  ii.  1,  w.  and  y.,  20  f.,  Jn.-Au.,  N.  Am.  6.  Sal' via  fuV pens.  Scarlet  salvia,  ii.  1, 
8C.,  6  f.,  Au.-O.,  Mexico.  T.  Lavan'dula  stce'chas^  French  lavender,  xiii.  1,  Ii.,  IS  in.  My.- 
Jl.,  S.  Europe.  8.  Maru'biuni  vtilga're^  Common  horeliound,  xiii.  1,  w.,  2  f.,  Jn.-S.,  N.  .\m. 
9,  Thy'muH  aerpyl'lum^VfWA  thyme,  xiii.  1,  pu.,  3  in.,  Jn.-Au.,  Kurope.  10.  Thy'mus 
miXga'ria^  Garden  thyme,  xiii.  1,  pu.,  12  in.,  My.-Au.,  cultivated, . 

1.  The  plants  of  the  Labiate  family,  which  number  nearly 
twenty-four  hundred  species,  are  easily  distinguished  by  the 
labiate  or  lip-like  form  of  their  mono- 
petalous^  corollas.  Natives,  chiefly, 
of  temperate  regions,  they  are  found 
ill  abundance  in  hot,  dry,  exposed  sit- 
uations, in  meadows,  groves,  and  by 
the  wayside,  and  but  seldom  in  marsh- 
es. They  are,  for  the  most  part,  fra- 
grant and  aromatic;^  some,  as  the 
sage,  hyssop,  thyme,^  and  savory,  are 
^.     ,  .    .    valuable  as  kitchen  herbs,  for  sauces, 

1,  a  trumpet-flower, /jM77io'7iJrtri-  ,    ^  .  i      j     tV 

f/M'cen*.  2,8iabiateflower,aar-  and  flavoring  cooked  dishes;  some, 
"den  uage.  ]j]^p  \\yQ  miots,  lavcnders,  and  rosema- 


2dDlV.  OF.  .  VEGETABLE    PHYSIOLOGY,  OR    BOTAN^Y.  173 

ry,  are  employed  by  perfumers ;  others,  like  the  exotic  sal- 
vias, are  admired  and  extensively  cultivated  for  their  beauty. 

2.  Many  of  the  plants  of  this  family  were  formerly  deemed 
valuable  as  medicines,  and  frequent  allusions  to  their  medic- 
inal virtues  are  made  by  the  poets.  Thus  rosemary  was  for- 
merly recommended  for  diseases  of  the  nervous  system,  for 
the  removal  of  headaches,  and  also  for  strengthening  the  mem- 
ory. Hence  the  allusion  of  Shakspeare,  "  There's  rosemary : 
that's  for  remembrance."  With  the  Greeks,  the  plant  thyme 
was  the  emblem  of  activity^  doubtless  because  its  honeyed 
fragrance  made  it  a  favorite  with  all  the  cheerful,  busy  little 
tenants  of  the  air,  who  are  continually  on  the  wing  around  it, 
making  the  most  of  the  brief  time  allotted  to  their  ephemer- 
al existence. 

3.  The  Trumpet-flower  family,  which  consists  of  trees, 
shrubs,  or  occasionally  herbs,  often  twining  or  climbing,  most 
abounds  in  tropical  regions ;  but  native  species  are  found  in 
our  country  as  far  northward  as  Pennsylvania ;  and  others, 
like  the  catalpa-tree,  and  the  bignonias,  are  cultivated  still  far- 
ther north.  The  various  species  are  most  celebrated  for  the 
great  beauty  of  their  trumpet-shaped  flowers,  which,  from 
their  large  size,  gay  colors,  and  great  abundance,  are  often 
among  the  most  striking  objects  in  a  tropical  forest. 

'  Mon-o-pet'-al-ous,  having  a  corolla  of  a|2  Ae-o-mat'-ic,  spicy ;  strong-scented, 
single  pgtaL  |3  Thyme  (.pronounced  time). 


LESS0:N'  Xni.— forest  trees. 

1.  I  AM  fond  of  listening  to  the  conversation  of  English  gen- 
tlemen on  rural  concerns,  and  of  noticing  with  what  taste  and 
discrimination,  and  with  what  strong,  unafiected  interest,  they 
Avill  discuss  topics  which,  in  other  countries,  are  abandoned 
to  mere  woodmen  or  rustic  cultivators.  I  have  heard  a  noble 
earl  descant^  on  park  and  forest  scenery  with  the  science  and 
feeling  of  a  painter.  He  dwelt  on  the  shape  and  beauty  of 
particular  trees  on  his  estate  with  as  much  pride  and  technic- 
al precision  as  though  he  had  been  discussing  the  merits  of 
statues  in  his  collection.  I  found  that  he  had  gone  consider- 
able distances  to  examine  trees  which  were  celelarated  among 
rural  amateurs  '^  for  it  seems  that  trees,  like  horses,  have  their 
established  points  of  excellence,  and  that  there  are  some  in 
England  which  enjoy  very  extensive  celebrity  from  being  per- 
fect in  their  kind. 

2.  There  is  something  nobly  simple  and  pure  in  such  a  taste. 


174 


willson's  fipth  reader. 


Past  IV. 


It  argues,  I  think,  a  sweet  and  generous  nature  to  have  this 
strong  relish  for  the  beauties  of  vegetation,  and  this  friendship 
for  the  hardy  and  glorious  sons  of  the  forest.  There  is  a 
grandeur  of  thought  connected  with  this  part  of  rural  econo- 
my. It  is,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  figure,  the  heroic  line  of 
husbandry.  It  is  worthy  of  liberal,  and  free-born,  and  aspir- 
ing men.  He  who  plants  an  oak  looks  forward  to  future  ages, 
and  plants  for  posterity.  Nothing  can  be  less  selfish  than  this. 
He  can  not  expect  to  sit  in  its  shade  nor  enjoy  its  shelter ; 
but  he  exults  in  the  idea  that  the  acorn  which  he  has  buried 
in  the  earth  shall  grow  up  into  a  lofty  pile,  and  shall  keep  on 
flourishing,  and  increasing,  and  benefiting  mankind  long  after 
he  shall  have  ceased  to  tread  his  paternal  fields. — W.  Irving. 

1  Des-cant',  discourse  upon ;  make  a  varie-|3  Am-a-tbCb',  an  unprofessional  cultivator 
ty  of  remarks.  |    of  a  study  or  art 


LESSON   XIV.— THE   OAK   FAMILY. 

[ExOGENOirs  or  DiooTTLEDOniorB ;  Angiosperms;  Apetalmts.^^ 


1.  Qun-'cus  phel'los.  Willow  oak,  xix.  12,  (ap),  CO  f,  My.-Jn.,  N.  Am.     2.  Q.  vi'reiu. 

Live  oak,  xix,  13,  (ap),  40  f.,  My., 8.  Q.  ivibrica'ta,  Shinple  oak,  xix.  12,  (np.),  40 

f.,  My.-Jn.,  N.  Am.  4.  Q.  bi'colnr.  White  swamp  oak,  xix,  12,  (ap.),  60  f.,  My.,  N.  Am. 
5.  Q.  nl'ha,  White  oak,  xix.  12,  (ap.),  80  f.,  My.,  N.  Am.  6.  Q.  ru'bra^  Ked  oak,  xix.  12, 
(ap.),  70  f.,  My.,  N,  Am.  7.  Casta'tiea  ven'M.  Common  chestnut,  xix.  13,  p.,  60  f.,  My.- 
Jii.,  N.  Am.  8.  On'tri/a  vnlija'ris^  Hop  honibeam,  xix.  12.,  (ap.),  30  f ,  My.-,Tn,,  Italy. 
(The  American  hornbeam  has  an  acute  bud,  and  more  pointed  leaves.)  9.  Fa'gusft'^iTii. 
gin'ea,  Ked  beech,  xix.  12,  (ap.),  50  f.,  My.-Jn.,  N.  Am.  10.  I'la'tanus  occidtfnio'Ws,  but- 
lon-wood,  eycjunore,  or  plano-troe,  xix.  13,  (ap.),  70  f.,  A.-My.,  N.  Am. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OB   BOTANY.  1*75 

1.  The  monarch  oah^  the  patriarch  of  the  trees, 
Shoots  slowly  up,  and  spreads  by  slo\r  degrees  ; 
Three  centuries  he  grows,  and  three  he  stays 
Supreme  in  state,  and  in  three  more  decays. — Deyden. 

2.  "  The  oak,  for  grandeur,  strength,  and  noble  size, 

Excels  all  trees  that  in  the  forest  grow  : 
From  acorn  small,  that  trunk,  those  branches  rise, 

To  Airhich  such  signal  benefits  we  owe. 
Behold  what  shelter  in  its  ample  shade, 

From  noontide  sun,  or  from  the  drenching  rain  ; 
And  of  its  timber  stanch,  vast  ships  are  made, . 

To  sweep  rich  cargoes  o'er  the  watery  main." 

3.  The  illustrious  Oak  family  includes  not  only  the  trees 
usually  called  oak,  but  also  the  chestnut,  beech,  hornbeam  or 
iron-wood,  and  hazel  or  filbert.  It  embraces  two  hundred 
and  sixty-five  species,  mostly  forest  trees  of  great  size.  Ac- 
cording to  ancient  legends,  the  fruit  of  the  oak  served  as  nour- 
ishment for  the  early  race  of  mankind.  This  tree  was  said 
to  have  shaded  the  cradle  of  Jupiter  after  his  birth  on  Mount 
Lycseus,  in  Arcadia,  and,  after  that,  to  have  been  consecrated 
to  him. 

4.  Among  the  Romans,  the  highest  reward  was  the  civic 
crown,  made  of  oak  leaves,  given  to  him  who  had  saved  the 
life  of  a  citizen  in  battle. 

Most  worthy  of  the  oaken  wreath 

The  ancients  him  esteemed 
Who  in  a  battle  had  from  death 

Some  man  of  worth  redeemed Drayton, 

The  person  who  received  it  was  entitled  to  wear  it  at  all  pub- 
lic spectacles,  and  to  sit  next  to  the  senators ;  and  when  he 
entered  crowned  with  oak  leaves,  the  audience  rose  up  as  a 
mark  of  respect. 

5.  By  the  early  inhabitants  of  Britain,  also,  the  oak  was  held 
in  great  veneration,  and  it  was  within  its  consecrated  groves 
that 

"The  Druid,  erst  his  solemn  rites  performed. 
And  taught  to  distant  realms  his  sacred  lore." 

Cowper,  in  iis  poem  to  the  Yardley  Oak,  thus  alludes  to  the 
Druidical  worship : 

"It  seems  idolatry  with  some  excuse\ 
When  our  forefather  Druids  in  their  oaka 
Imagined  sanctity'.     The  conscience,  yet 
Unpurified  by  an  authentic  act 
Of  amnesty',  the  meed  of  blood  divine', 
Loved  not  the  light\  but,  gloomy,  into  gloom 
Of  thickest  shades',  like  Adam  after  taste 
Of  fruit  proscribed',  as  to  a  refuge  fled\" 

6.  The  white  oak,  red  oak,  and  live  oak  are  the  most  im- 
portant species,  the  timber  of  the  latter  being  the  best  for 
ship-building.  The  live  oak  grows  in  the  Southern  States, 
within  twenty  miles  of  the  sea-coast,  and  may  be  seen  as  far 


176  WILLSON's   FLb'Tli    ilKADEK.  PakT  IV, 

north  as  Old  Point  Comfort,  in  Virginia.  Other  species,  as 
water,  black,  willow,  and  shingle  oaks,  abound  in  various  sec- 
tions of  the  country.  It  is  a  common  sentiment  that  the  more 
the  oak  is  rocked  by  winds,  the  more  firmly  knit  are  its  branch- 
es, and  that  the  storm  which  scatters  its  leaves  only  causes  its 
roots  to  strike  the  deeper  into  the  earth. 

The  graceful  foliage  storms  may  reave. 
The  noble  stem  they  can  not  grieve. — Scott. 

It  grew  and  it  flourish' d  for  many  an  age, 

And  many  a  tempest  wreak' d  on  it  its  rage ; 

But  When  its  strong  branches  were  bent  with  the  blast, 

It  struck  its  roots  deeper,  and  flourish'd  more  fast.— Southet. 

In  the  following  lines  an  anonymous  writer  has  given  to  the 
subject  a  moral  application. 

7.  "  Proud  monarch  of  the  forest' ! 

That  once,  a  sapling  bough, 
~>  Didst  quail  far  more  at  evening's  breath 

Than  at  the  tempest  now'. 
Strange  scenes  have  pasa'd,  long  ages  roll'tl 

Since  first  upon  thy  stem, 
Then  weak  as  osier  twig,  Spring  set 

Her  leafy  diadem\ 

8.  To  thee  but  little  recks  it 

What  seasons  come  or  go^ ; 
Thou  lov'st  to  breathe  the  gale  of  spring 

And  bask  in  summer's  glow^ ; 
But  more  to  feel  the  wintry  winds 

Sweep  by  in  awful  mirth, 
For  well  thou  know' at  each  blast  will  fix 

Thy  roots  more  deep  in  earth. 

9.  Would  that  to  me  life's  changes 

Did  thus  with  blessings  come^ ! 
That  mercies  might,  like  gales  of  spring, 

Cause  some  new  grace  to  bloom^ ! 
And  that  the  storm  whicli  8catt«reth 

Each  earth-bom  hope  abroad', 
Might  anchor  those  of  holier  birth 

More  firmly  on  my  God  I" 

10.  Oaks  live  to  a  great  age.  The  famous  Charter  Oak  of 
Hartford,  Connecticut,  which  fell  August  21st,  1856,  must  have 
been  a  goodly  tree  when  William  the  Conqueror  was  plant- 
ing the  new  forest  in  England.  When  the  first  settlers  of  the 
state  were  clearing  the  forests,  the  Indians  begged  that  it 
might  be  spared.  How  appropriate  to  their  entreaties  seem 
the  words  of  Morris : 

"  Woodman,  forbear  thy  stroke  I 
Cut  not  its  earth-bound  ties  ; 
Oh,  spare  that  aged  oak, 
Now  towering  to  the  skies  1" 

11.  "It  has  been  the  guide  of  our  ancestors  for  centuries," 
said  they,  "  as  to  the  time  of  planting  our  corn.  When  the 
leaves  are  the  size  of  a  mouse's  ears,  then  is  the  time  to  put 
the  seed  into  the  ground."  And  it  was  well  they  did  "  let 
the  old  oak  stand,"  for  it  afterward  became  the  faithful  guard- 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,   OB    BOTANY.  177 

ian  of  the  chartered  rights  of  the  infant  colony  ;  and  so  high- 
ly was  it  venerated,  that,  at  sunset  on  the  day  of  its  fall,  the 
bells  of  the  city  were  tolled,  and  a  band  of  music  played  fu- 
neral dirges  over  its  fallen  ruins. 

12.  The  chestnut,  also  one  of  the  Oak  family,  is,  like  the  oak, 
remarkable  for  its  long  life  and  great  size,  but  is  best  known 
for  its  excellent  fruit.  -,As  a  noble  shade-tree  it  is  unsurpass- 
ed, and  as  such  has  been  immortalized  in  the  aflfections  of  our 
people  by  a  popular  poem  beginning, 

Under  a  spreadiug  chestnut-tree. 

The  village  smithy  stands, 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands ; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  hands Longfellow. 

This  tree  is  not,  however,  the  same  as  the  well-known  orna- 
mental lawn-tree,  the  horse-chestnut^  which  belongs  to  another 
family. 

13.  The  beech — "the  spreading  beech-tree" — also  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Oak  family,  is  a  tree  of  firm  and  hard  wood,  which 
is  much  used  for  making  carpenters'  tools.  The  botanical 
name  of  the  tree,  fagus^  is  supposed  to  be  derived  from  a 
Greek  word  signifying  to  eat,  indicating  that  its  fruit  served 
as  food  for  man  in  ancient  times.  Our  American  Indians  were 
so  firmly  persuaded  that  this  tree  was  never  struck  by  light- 
ning, that,  on  the  approach  of  a  thunder-storm,  they  took  ref- 
uge under  its  thick  foliage  with  a  full  assurance  of  safety. 

14.  The  bark  of  the  beech  is  smooth,  and  of  a  silvery  hue, 
and  very  well  adapted  to  rude  carving ;  and  doubtless  this  is 
the  chief  reason  of  the  poetic  celebrity  which  this  tree  has  at- 
tained. Virgil  has  given  it  immortal  bloom  in  the  opening 
of  his  first  Eclogue : 

*'  In  beechen  shades,  you,  Tityrus,  stretched  along, 
Tune  to  your  slender  reed  the  sylvan  song ;" 

and  Shakspeare  thus  notices  it  in  his  comedy  of  "  As  You 
Like  It:" 

"  Oh  Rosalind  I  these  trees  shall  be  my  books. 
And  in  their  barks  my  thoughts  I'll  character. 
That  every  eye  which  in  this  forest  looks 
Shall  see  thy  virtue  witness'd  every  where." 

15.  The  poet  Campbell  has  appropriated  a  distinct  poem 
to  "  The  Beech-tree's  Petition" — the  last  few  lines  of  which 
will  close  our  notice  of  this  tree  of  poetic  celebrity :' 

"  Thrice  twenty  summers  I  have  stood 
In  bloomless,  fruitless  solitude, 
Since  childhood  in  my  nestling  bower 
First  spent  its  sweet  and  sportive  houi-, 
Since  youthful  lovers  in  my  shade 
Their  vows  of  truth  and  rapture  paid, 
H2 


178  willson's  fifth  eeadee.  Pabt  IV. 

And  on  my  trunk's  survi^ong  frame 
Carved  many  a  long-forgotteu  name. 

Oh,  by  the  vowa  of  gentle  sound 
First  breathed  upon  this  sacred  giound, 
By  all  that  Love  hath  whisper' d  here. 
Or  beauty  heard  with  ravish'd  ear- 
As  Love's  own  altar,  honor  me, 
Spare,  woodman,  spare  the  bcechen-tree  /" 
»  A-l5i'-AL-OUB  plants  are  those  whose  flowers  have  no  petals,  or  corolla. 


LESSON   XV. — THE   OAK   AND  THE  NOBLEMAN. 

And,  on  the  ru^ed  mountain  brow  exposed, 
Bearing  the  blast  alone,  the  ancient  oak 
Stood,  lifting  his  mighty  arm,  and  etill, 
To  courage  in  distress,  exhorted  loud. — Pollob:. 

There  is  an  affinity  between  all  natures,  animate  and  inani- 
mate. The  oak,  in  the  pride  and  lustihood  of  its  growth, 
seems  to  me  to  take  its  range  with  the  lion  and  the  eagle,  and 
to  assimilate,  in  the  grandeur  of  its  attributes,  to  heroic  and 
intellectual  man.  With  its  lofty  pillar  rising  straight  and 
direct  toward  heaven,  bearing  up  its  leafy  honors  from  the 
impurities  of  earth,  and  supporting  them  aloft  in  free  air  and 
glorious  sunshine,  it  is  an  emblem  of  what  a  true  nobleman 
should  be :  a  refuge  for  the  weak,  a  shelter  for  the  oppress- 
ed, a  defense  for  the  defenseless ;  warding  oif  from  the  pelt- 
ings  of  the  storm,  or  the  scorching  rays  of  arbitrary  power. 
He  who  is  this  is  an  ornament  and  a  blessing  to  his  native 
land.  He  who  is  otherwise  abuses  his  eminent  advantages — 
abuses  the  grandeur  and  prosperity  which  he  has  drawn  from 
the  bosom  of  his  country.  Should  tempests  arise,  and  he  be 
laid  prostrate  by  the  storm,  who  would  mourn  over  his  fall  ? 
Should  he  be  borne  down  by  the  oppressive  hand  of  power, 
who  would  murmur  at  his  fate  ?  "Why  cumbereth  he  the 
GROUND  ?" — Washington  Irving. 


LESSON   XVI. — THE  ELM,  WILLOW,   AND   BIRCH  FAMILIES. 

1.  The  numerous  species  of  trees  of  the  Elm,  Willow,  and 
Birch  families,  as  well  as  those  of  the  Oak,  Cliestnut,  Beech, 
and  many  others  of  our  large  forest  trees,  are  classed  by  most 
botanists  as  apetalous^  because,  while  they  have  all  the  essen- 
tial organs  which  constitute  a  flower,  such  as  stamens,  pistils, 
and  seed>sressels,  they  are  destitute  of  petals,  or  corolla.  Many 
of  them  have  a  colored  calyx,  but  in  some  even  the  calyx  it- 
self is  wanting. 

2.  The  elins,  of  which  sixty  species  have  been  described  by 
botanists,  are  believed  by  many  to  have  originated  from  only 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE  PHYSIOLOGY,  OB   BOTANY. 

[Exogenous  or  DicoTTLEDONOirs ;  Angiosperms;  Apetalous.'] 


179 


1.  Ui'mus  campes'tris^  English  elm,  now  abundant  in  thia  countiy,  v.  2,  (ap.),  80  f,, 
A.-My.,  Britain.  2.  Sa'lix  trian'dra.  Long-leaved  willow,  xx.  2,  (ap.),  30  f.,  My,-Au., 
Britain.  3.  Sa'lix  ru'hra.  Green  osier,  xx.  2,  (ap.),  8  f.,  A.-My.,  England.  4.  Sa'lix 
rosmarinifo'lia,  Rosemary  willow,  xx.  2,  (ap.),  3  f.,  A.-My.,  N.  Am.  5.  Pop'ulus  al'ba, 
AbCle  tree,  xx.  8,  (ap.),  40  f.,  M.-A.  (introduced).  6.  Pop'ulus  ni'gra,  Black  poplar,  xx. 
8,  (ap.),  30  f.,  M.-A.,  Britain.  7.  Pop'ulus  monilif'era,  Canadian  poplar,  xx.  8,  (ap.), 
70  f..  My.,  N.  Am.  8.  Pop'ulus  trem'ula^  Aspen,  xx.  8,  (ap.),  50  f.,  A.-Jn.,  Britain.  9. 
Be'tula  al'ba.  Common  birch,  xix.  12,  (ap.),  40  f.,  A.-Jn.,  Britain.  10.  Be'tula  len'ta^ 
Mountain  mahogany,  black  birch,  or  sweet  birch,  xix.  12,  (ap.),  50  f.,  My.-Jn.,  N.  Am.  11. 
Sa'lix  Babylon'ica,  Weeping  willow,  xx.  2,  (ap.),  40  f.,  My.,  Levant. 

two  distinct  kincis,  the  lowland  and  the  mount- 
ain elm.  Certain  it  is  that  the  elm,  like  the 
apple,  has  a  remarkable  tendency  to  produce 
new  varieties  from  the  seed  ;  and  if  a  bed  be 
sown  with  the  seeds,  some  of  the  plants  will 
have  large  leaves,  and  some  small  ones ;  some 
will  be  early,  an(i  others  late ;  and  some  will 
have  smooth  bark,  and  others  rough. 

3.  The  ancient  poets  frequently  mention 

the  elm.    The  Greeks  and  Romans  consider- 

Eim  in  blossom.      ed  all  as  funeral  trees  which  produced  no 

fruit  fit  for  the  use  of  man.     Homer  alludes  to  this  when  he 

tells  us,  in  the  Iliad,  that  Achilles  raised  a  monument  to  the 

father  of  Andromache  in  a  grove  of  elms : 

**  Jove's  sylvan  daughters  bade  their  elms  bestow 
A  barren  shade,  and  in  his  honor  grow." 

4.  So.  generally,  among  the  Romans,  was  the  elm  used  as 


180  willson's  fifth  beadeb.  PaktIV. 

a  prop  to  the  vine,  that  the  one  was  considered  by  the  poets 
inseparable  from  the  other. 

"  If  that  fair  elm,"  he  cried,  "alone  Bhould  Btand, 
Ko  gmpes  would  glow  with  gold,  and  tempt  the  hapd  ; 
Or  if  that  vine  without  her  elm  Hhould  grow, 
'T would  creep,  a  poor  neglected  shrub,  below." — Ovid. 

And  finally,  the  poet  Cowper,  in  the  *'  Task,"  very  accurately 
sketches  the  varieties  of  form  in  the  elm,  alludes  to  the  differ- 
ent sites  where  it  is  found,  and  describes  an  enchanting  scene, 
where  a  lowly  cot,  "  perched  upon  the  green  hill-top,"  is 

"  Environ' d  with  a  ring  of  branching  elms 
That  overhang  the  thatch." 

5.  The  elm  is  the  favorite  shade-tree  in  the  villages  of  New 
England.  In  the  centre  of  the  public  square,  in  the  beautiful 
village  of  Pittsfield,  in  Massachusetts,  there  stands  alone,  in 
all  its  majesty,  encircled  by  a  new  generation  of  lesser  trees, 
a  venerable  old  elm,  which  measures  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight  feet  in  height,  with  a  trunk  thirteen  feet  and  nine  inch- 
es in  circumfererence  at  a  yard  from  the  ground,  and  ninety 
feet  to  the  lowermost  limbs.  Many  interesting  incidents  in 
the  history  of  the  country  are  associated  with  this  much-re- 
vered and  ancient  tenant  of  the  soil.  It  was  beneath  its  shade 
that  the  Berkshire  troops  were  marshaled  previous  to  their 
march  to  Bunker  Hill ;  and  the  first  agricultural  fair  in  Amer- 
ica was  held  under  its  boughs.  It  was  somewhat  injured  by 
lightning  in  the  year  1841. 

6.  Hail  to  the  elm !  the  brave  old  elm  1 

Our  last  lone  forest  tree, 
Whose  limbs  outstand  the  lightning's  brand, 

For  a  brave  old  elm  is  he ! 
For  fifteen  score  of  full-told  years 

He  has  borne  his  leafy  prime, 
Yet  he  holds  them  well,  and  lives  to  tell 

His  tale  of  the  olden  time ! 
Then  hail  to  the  elm !  the  green-topp'd  elm  I 

And  long  may  his  branches  wave, 
For  a  relic  is  he,  the  gnarl'd  old  tree. 

Of  the  times  of  the  good  and  brave.— N.  S.  Dodge. 

7.  The  willow  and  poplar,  which  are  examples  of  the  Wil- 
low family^  are  distinguished  as  being  the  largest  members 
in  a  numerous  class  which  have  separate  staminate  and  pistil- 
late flowers  on  different  plants.  Willows  generally  grow  on 
the  banks  of  streams ;  and  some  of  the  smaller  cultivated 
species,  called  osiers^  are  used  for  hoops,  basket-work,  and  for 
thatching.  Most  of  the  species  are  easily  recognized  in  the 
flowering  season  by  their  long,  pendulous,  and  frequently 
downy  spikes  or  clusters  of  flowers,  called  catkins.  The 
blossoms  of  some  of  the  water-willows,  with  their  little  knots 
of  golden  down,  present  a  very  beautiful  appearance. 


2d  DiV.OF  ,  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  181 

"  The  watery  willow'' s  spray,  emboss'd 
With  oval  knots  of  silken  down  ; 
Which  soon,  in  form  of  papal  crown, 
Shall  decorate  the  russet  stem 
With  many  a  golden  diadem." 

8.  The  weeping  or  Babylonian  willow,  so  celebrated  for 
its  drooping  foliage,  received  its  botanical  name,  Halix  Bahy- 
lonica^  from  Linnaeus,  in  allusion  to  the  137th  Psalm,  where 
the  Jews,  in  their  captivity,  are  represented  as  sitting  down 
by  the  waters  of  Babylon,  and  weeping,  having  hung  their 
harps  upon  the  willows,  while  their  oppressors  required  of 
them  one  of  the  songs  of  Sion. 

"  By  Babel's  stream  the  captives  sat, 

And  wept  for  Sion's  hapless  fate. 

Useless  their  harps  on  willows  hung, 

While  foes  required  a  sacred  song." 
On  the  willow  that  harp  is  suspended, 

Oh  Salem !  its  sound  should  be  free ; 
And  the  hour  when  thy  glories  were  ended 

But  left  me  that  token  of  thee : 
And  ne'er  shall  its  soft  tones  be  blended 

With  the  voice  of  the  spoiler  by  me.— Bteon, 

9.  The  poplar  is  a  member  of  the  Willow  family.  Like  the 
willow  it  is  easily  propagated,  growing  readily  where  a  green 
twig  is  thrust  into  moist  earth.  A  tree  called  the  tuhp  pop- 
lar, or  tulip-tree,  common  in  this  country,  does  not  belong  to 
this  family.  Popular  tradition  states  that  the  cross  was  made 
from  the  aspen  or  poplar-tree,  and  that  since  the  Passion  of 
our  Savior  the  leaves  have  never  known  rest.  The  vibratory 
motion  of  the  leaves  is  indeed  curious,  and  never  fails  to  at- 
tract the  attention  of  the  observer.  It  arises  from  the  length 
and  slenderness  of  the  footstalks  to  which  they  are  attached. 

10.  "  Why  tremble  so\  broad  aspen-tree'  f 

Why  shake  thy  leaves  ne'er  ceasing^  ? 
At  rest  thou  never  seem'st  to  be\ 

For  when  the  air  is  still  and  clear', 
Or  when  the  nipping  gale,  increasing. 

Shakes  from  thy  boughs  soft  twilight's  tear', 
Tliou  tremblest  stilP,  broad  aspen-tree'. 
And  never  tranquil  seem'st  to  be\" 

11.  The  family  oi Birches  is  very  small,  being  confined  prin- 
cipally to  the  cooler  parts  of  the  northern  hemisphere.  One 
species,  called  the  paper  birch,  furnished  the  Indians  of  Amer- 
ica the  bark  of  which  they  made  their  canoes.  The  elegance 
of  its  appearance  has  given  it  the  appellation  of  "Lady  of  the 
Woods,"  and  it  is  very  properly  considered  the  emblem  of 
gracefulness. 

12.  "  Oh  I  come  to  the  woodlands,  'tis  joy  to  behold 

The  ne w- waken' d  buds  in  our  pathway  unfold ; 

For  spring  has  come  forth,  and  the  bland  southern  breeze 

Is  telling  the  tale  to  the  shrubs  and  the  trees. 

Which,  anxious  to  show  her 

The  duty  they  owe  her, 
Have  decked  themselves  gayly  in  em' raid  and  gold. 


182  willson's  fifth  keadek.  Part  IV. 

13.  But,  though  beautiful  each,  sure  the  fairest  of  all 

Is  yon  birch^  that  is  waving  so  gi-aceful  and  tall : 
How  tender,  yet  bright,  is  the  tint  that  is  flung 
O'er  its  delicate  spray,  which  so  lightly  is  hung, 

That,  like  breeze  of  the  mountain, 

Or  gush  of  the  fountain, 
It  owns  not  of  rest  or  of  slumber  the  thralL" 

14.  The  '-'- hirch-tree!''  is  very  prettily  introduced  in  Long- 
fellow's poem  of  Hiawatha^  from,  which  we  make  the  follow- 
ing extract: 

HIAWATHA'S  CANOE. 

"••Give  me  of  your  bark,  O  birch-tree  I 
Of  your  yellow  bark,  O  birch-tree  1 
Growing  by  the  rushing  river. 
Tall  and  stately  in  the  valley  1 
I  a  light  canoe  will  build  me, 
That  shall  float  upon  the  river 
Like  a  yellow  leaf  in  autumn, 
Like  a  yellow  water-lily. 
Lay  aside  your  cloak,  ( )  birch-tree  I 
Lay  aside  your  white-skin  wrapper ; 
For  the  summer  time  is  coming. 
And  the  sun  is  warm  in  heaven. 
And  you  need  no  white-.^kin  wrapper.' 

15.  Thus  aloud  cried  Hiawatha 

In  the  solitary  forest, 
When  the  birds  were  singing  gayly, 
In  the  moon  of  leaves  were  singing : 
And  the  sun,  from  sleep  awaking, 
Started  up,  and  said,  '  IJehold  me  I' 
And  the  tree,  with  all  its  branches, 
Rustled  in  the  breeze  of  morning, 
Saying,  Avith  a  sigh  of  patience, 
'  Take  my  cloak,  ()  Hiawatha !' 
With  his  knife  the  tree  he  girdled; 
Just  beneath  its  lowest  brandies, 
Just  above  the  roots  he  cut  it. 
Till  the  sap  came  oozing  outward; 
Down  tlie  trunk,  from  top  to  bottom, 
Sheer  he  cleft  the  bark  asunder; 
With  a  wooden  wedge  he  raised  it, 
Stripped  it  from  the  trunk  unbroken." 


LES.  XVII. THE   CONE-BEARING,  OR   PINE  FAMILY. 

1.  In  the  cone-bearing,  or  Pine  family,  exogenous  plants 
assume  a  new  character,  in  having  their  seeds  uncovered. 
Like  the  elm,  willow,  and  birch,  their  flowers  have  no  corol- 
la :  in  some  species  the  pistillate  and  stamiuatc  flowers  are  on 
the  same  plant,  and  in  others  on  difierent  plants,  while  in  oth- 
er particulars  their  inflorescence  is  often  irregular,  and  seem- 
ingly imperfect.  Yet  hero  we  find  some  of  the  noblest  spec- 
imens of  the  vegetable  kingdom ;  and  no  other  family  is  of 
more  importance  to  mankind  than  this,  whether  wo  view  it 
with  reference  to  its  timber  or  its  secretions. 

2.  Many  of  the  trees  of  this  family  are  gigantic  in  siz(\  rap- 


DiV.  OP  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR  BOTANY. 

[Exogenous  or  Dtcotoledonotjs  ;  GymnoKperms;!  Aprtalous.j 


183 


1.  Pi'nus  Carmden' tds^  Hemlock  or  Hemlock  spruce,  xix.  15,  (ap.),  50  f.,  My.,  N.  Am. 
2.  Pi'nus  stro'biis.  White  or  Weymouth  pine,  xix.  15,  (ap.),  50-100  f.,  My.,  N.  Am.  3. 
JPi'nus pi'nea.  Stone  pine,  xix.  15,  (ap.),  40  f.,  My.,  Italy.  4.  Pi'nus  or  A'hies  commu'- 
nw.  Common  fir  or  Norway  spruce,  xix.  15,  (ap.),  100  f.,  A.,  N.  Europe.  5.  Pi'nus  or 
A'bies  rubra^  Red  spruce,  xix.  15,  (ap.),  50  f.,  A.,  N.  Am.  6.  La'rix  ce'dnis^  Cedar  of 
Lebanon,xix.l5,(ap.),60f., A., W.Asia.  T.  Cupre'susthyoi'des.,'Wh\te  cedar  or  cypress, 
xix.  15,  (ap.),  20  f..  A.,  N.  Am.  8.  Thu'ja  occidenta'lis^  American  arbor-vitae,  xix.  15, 
(ap.),  25  f..  A.,  N.  Am.  9.  Junip'erus  Virginia'na,  Red  cedar,  xx.  15,  (ap.),  30  f.,  My.- 
Jn.,  N.  Am.    10.  Tax'us  bacca'ta^  Common  yew,  xx.  15,  (ap.),  20  f.,  A.,  Britain. 

id  in  growth,  noble  in  aspect,  robust  in  constitution ;  and  they 
form  a  considerable  proportion  of  woods  or  plantations  in  cul- 
tivated countries,  and  of  forests  where  nature  remains,  in  tem- 
perate countries,  in  a  savage  state.  Their  timber,  in  commerce, 
is  known  under  the  names  of  deal,  fir,  pine,  and  cedar ;  and  is 
principally  the  wood  of  the  spruce,  the  larch,  the  Scotch  fir, 
the  white  or  Weymouth  pine  of  Vermont,  and  the  Virginian 
cedar.  Some  of  the  pines  of  Northwest  America  are  stupen- 
dous trees,  attaining  a  height  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet. 
Those  products  called  naval  stores,  such  as  tar,  turpentine, 
pitch,  together  with  numerous  resins  and  balsams,  are  obtain- 
ed from  the  Pine  family. 

3.  The  cone-bearing  trees  are  not  only  of  great  value  in 
ship-building,  but  in  all  structures  in  which  durability  is  de- 
sired. From  the  wood  of  the  juniper  the  Greeks  carved  the 
images  of  their  g()ds ;  the  wood  of  the  arar-tree  of  Barbary 
is  considered  by  th*e  Turks  indestructible,  and  on  this  account 
they  use  it  for  the  ceilings  and  floors  of  their  mosques ;  and 


184  willson's  fifth  eeader.  Pabt  I  v. 

the  gates  of  Constantinople,  famous  ^  having  stood  from  the 
time  of  Constantino  to  that  of  Pope  Eugene  IV.,  a  period  of 
eleven  hundred  years,  were  of  cypress.  The  cedar  of  Leba- 
non is,  perhaps,  the  most  celebrated  tree  of  the  whole  family, 
yet  it  is  now  scarce  on  Mount  Lib'anus,  whose  forests  seem 
never  to  have  recovered  from  the  havoc  made  by  Solomon's 
four  score  thousand  hewers.  The  seeds  of  the  stone  pine, 
which  are  as  sweet  as  almonds,  are  eaten  throughout  Italy. 

4.  As  ornamental  lawn-trees,  the 
larch,  the  spruce,  the  firs,  the  cypress, 
are  unequaled ;  and  the  hemlock- 
spruce  and  arbor  vitaB  are  great  fa- 
vorites for  hedges.  Well-grown  belts 
of  evergreens,  which  ^„,„.^  ^'d„ta ' 

''  in  conic  forms  arise,  Black  Larch,  or 

And  with  a  pointed  spear  divide  tlie  skies,"  American  Tam- 

afford  a  fine  protection  for  gardens  in  ^^'^^ 
exposed  situations,  and  are  often  planted,  in  the 
Northern  States,  for  that  purpose.     The  fact  that  a 
plaintive  sound,  solemn  and  sad,  is  produced  by  the 
passage  of  the  wind  through  the  leaves  of  the  pine,  is 
notorious  to  all  observers.     Virgil  alludes  to  this  music 
in  his  eighth  Eclogue : 

"  Begin  with  me,  my  pipe,  MsBnalian  strains, 
Delightful  Msenalus,  mid  echoing  groves 
And  vocal  pities.'''' 

5.  The  poet  Hood  has,  with  characteristic  humor,  described 
a  group  of  pines,  with  interlacing  branches,  writhing  in  the 
storm  like  Laocoon^  in  the  folds  of  the  serpents,  and  weeping 
gummy  tears. 

"  The  pines— tliope  old  gigantic  pines, 

That  writhe— recalling  soon  % 

The  fiimous  human  group  that  writhed 

With  snakes  in  wild  festoon — 
In  ramouB^  wrestlings  interlaced, 

A  forest  I^ocoon' — 
Like  Titans  of  primcvnl  girth 

By  tortures  overc<.>uu>, 
Tlit'ir  brown  ouormouf  limbs  they  twine. 

Bedewed  with  tears  of  gum." 

6.  Of  the  associations  connected  with  this  fomily,  it  may 
be  remarked  that  the  cypress  especially,  on  account  of  the 
gloomy  hue  of  its  leaves,  was  esteemed  by  the  ancients  a  suit- 
able ornament  of  their  burial-places,  and  that  it  is  often  al- 
luded to  in  poetry  as  the  emblem  of  mourning. 

Peace  to  the  dust  that  in  siU-nro  reposen 

Beneath  the  dark  fhadw  of  cypress  ant^cw; 
Let  spring  deck  the  spot  witli  her  earllost  roses. 

And  heaven  wasli  tluir  leaves  with  its  holiest  dew. — Ptertokt. 


2d  DiV.  OP  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OB   BOTANY.  1 85 

Dark  tree !  still  sad  -when  othei*a'  grief  is  flea, 
The  only  constant  mourner  of  the  dead. — Bteon. 

1  6ym'-no-spekm8  are  plants  that  have  na-|    here  departs  from  the  classical  pronuncia- 
ked  seeds,  such  as  the  pines.  tion,  which  is  Li-oe'-o-oN.  See  p.  70  and  72. 

2  La-o-€oon'.    It  will  be  seen  that  the  poet]'  Ra'-moub,  branched;  full  of  branches. 


LESSON    XYIII.— TO    A   PINE-TEEE. 

1 .  Far  up  on  Katahdin  thou  towerest, 

Purple-blue  with  the  distance,  and  vast ; 
Like  a  cloud  o'er  the  lowlands  thou  lowerest, 
That  hangs  poised  on  a  lull  in  the  blast, 
To  its  fall  leaning  awful. 

2.  Spite  of  winter  thou  keeps't  thy  green  glory, 

Lusty  father  of  Titans  past  number  ! 
The  snow-flakes  alone  make  thee  hoary, 
Nestling  close  to  thy  branches  in  slumber. 
And  thee  mantling  with  silence. 

'3.  Thou  alone  know'st  the  splendor  of  winter, 
'Mid  thy  snow-silver'd,  hushed  precipices. 
Hearing  crags  of  green  ice  groan  and  splinter, 
And  then  plunge  down  the  muffled  abysses 
In  the  quiet  of  midnight. 

4.  Thou  alone  know'st  the  glory  of  summer, 

Gazing  down  on  thy  broad  seas  of  forest — 
On  thy  subjects,  that  send  a  proud  murmur 
Up  to  thee,  to  their  sachem,  who  towerest 
•         From  thy  bleak  throne  to  heaven. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


THE  PINE- APPLE.     [Endogenous  :  see  next  page.] 

Brome'lia  ana'nas^  the  Pine- 
apple, vi.  1,  pu.,  4  f.,  J.-D., 
S.  America.  "This  fruit," 
says  Loudon,  "  may,  without 
hesitation,  be  pronounced  the 
first  in  the  world,  though  it  has 
not  been  known  in  Europe 
above  two  centuries,  and  has 
only  been  cultivated  about  a 
century  as  a  fruit  plant  in  Brit- 
ain." First  discovered  in  Bra- 
zil, it  passed  thence  to  the  East 
Indies,  where  it  has  long  been 
successfully  cultivated.  Many 
varieties  of  the  pine-apple  have 
been  produced  by  cultivation.  In  the  West  Indies  and  South  America,  one 
species  is  used  for  fencing  pasture-lands  on  account  of  its  prickly  leaves. 


186 


WiLLiSON  S    FIFTLl    UKADER. 


I'ART   IV. 


SECOND  DIVISION  OF  THE  VEGETABLE  KING- 
DOM.   ENDOGENS. 

[The  four  most  important  physiological  peculiarities  of  this  great  natural  division  are, 
1st.  The  structure  is  endogenous  (for  which  see  Fourth  Reader,  p.  187).  2d.  The  leaves 
are  straight  or  parallel-veined.  3d.  The  flowers  are  teniarji ;  that  is,  have  three  sepals, 
petals,  and  stamens,  or  some  power  of  that  number.  4th.  The  embryo  ha.-  but  oue  coti)- 
ledon ;  that  is,  the  plants  are  monocotyli,' donous.  Other  peculiarities  will  be  noticed  un- 
der the  dififerent  families  which  compose  the  division.] 

LESSON    XIX. THE   IKIS,  LILT,  AND   PALM   PAMILLES. 

[Endogenous  or  Monoootyledonous  ;  Aglumacecua.'y 


Lily  Family. 


Iris  Family. 


1.  I'ris  versi'color,  Blue  flag,  iii.  1,  b.,  2  f.,  My.-Jn.,  N.  Am.  2.  Pris  te'nax,  California 
iris,  iii.  1,  pu.,  18  in.,  A. -My.,  California.  3.  I'ris  sambuci'na.  Flower-de-luce,  ill  1,  b., 
3  f ,  Jn.,  S.  Europe.  4  Tiqri'dia  j)avo'nia^  Tiger  flower,  xv.  3,  o.  and  r.,  2  f.,  JL-S.,  Mex- 
ico. 5.  Cro'cus  ver'nut).  Spring  crocus,  iii.  1,  y.,  6  in.,  M.,  Kng.  6.  Cro'cus  nati'vus,,  Au- 
tumn crocus,  iii.  1,  y.,  10  in.,  S.,  Eng.  T.  Lil'iuvi  Jajion'icum^  Japan  lily,  vi.  1. ,  w.,  2  f , 
Jl.-Au.,  China.  8.  Lil'ium  rhilndeVjMctlm^  IJed  lily,  vi.  1,  r.  and  y.,  5  f.,  Jl.-Aug.,  N. 
Am.  9.  Lil'ium  Canadcn'se,  Nodding  lily,  vi.  1,  r.  and  y.,  4  f.,  Jl.-Au.,  N.  Am.  10.  7'tt'- 
lijiU  sylves'tria.,  Wild  tulip,  vi.  1,  y.,  18  in.,  A.-My.,  Eng.  11.  Fritilla'ria  imperia'Us^ 
Crown  imperial,  vi.  1,  r.  and  y.,4  f.,  My.,  Persia. 

1 .  Conspicuous  among  the  Endogenous  plants,  -vvhich  con- 
stitute the  second  great  division  of  the  vegetable  kingdom, 
are  the  Iris,  Lily,  and  Palm  families,  the  palm  being  taken  as 
typical  of  the  endogenous  structure.  Endogens  probably 
contain  more  plants  contributing  to  the  food  of  man,  and  few- 
er poisonous  species  in  proportion  to  their  whole  numbw. 


2d  DiV.  OF,  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  187 

than  Exogens ;  as  the  grasses,  which  include  all  the  cereals, 
are  found  here,  to  which  may  be  added  the  numerous  palms 
yielding  fruit,  wine,  sugar,  sago,  the  pine-apple,  bananas,  the 
arrow-roots,  and  the  gingers. 

2.  The  large  and  showy  tiger  flower,  the  blue  flag,  flower- 
de-luce,  gladiolus,  and  the  crocus,  are  good  examples  of  the 
richly-tinted  l7'is  family.  The  name  itself  implies  that  the 
flowers  are  rainbow-colored.  Among  the  Greeks,  Iris  was 
the  winged  messenger  of  the  gods,  and  is  thus  alluded  to  by 
Yirgil; 

"Iris,  on  saffron  wings  array' d  with  dew 
Of  various  colors,  through  the  sunbeams  flew." 

According  to  Plutarch,  the  word  tris  signified,  in  the  ancient 
Egyptian  language,  "  the  eye  of  heaven,"  and  was  appropri- 
ated to  this  flower  because  no  other  name  was  so  expressive 
of  its  serene  lustre.  A  modern  poet  has  attributed  the  nam- 
ing of  the  beauty  to  her  sister  flowerets. 

3       ^  All  with  their  pearls  so  fair, 

The  gay  flowers  wreathed  were. 
But,  'midst  them  all. 

Crown' d  at  the  rainbow  festival, 
A  sapphire-colored  blossom  shone 
The  loveliest  there;  no  other  one 
Her  jewels  wore 

So  gracefully.     Her  robe  all  o'er 
Was  radiant,  yet  deep  blue,  like  twilight  sky, 
And  softly  shaded,  as  when  clouds  do  lie 
Upon  the  deep  expanse.     'Twas  strange,  none  knew 
A  name  for  this  fair  form,  so  bright  and  blue : 
But  sister  flowerets  fancifully  said. 
As  they  to  note  her  beauty  had  been  led 
By  its  enhancement  in  the  rainbow  shower. 
They  e'en  would  call  her  Ieis  from  that  hour.— Twamley. 

4.  "The  beautiful  creations,"  says  Lindley,  "which  consti- 
tute the  order  of  Lilies,  would  seem  to  be  well  known  to  all 
the  world,  for  what  have  been  so  long  admired  and  universal- 
ly cultivated  as  they  ?"  The  lily  is  often  alluded  to  as  being, 
among  flowers,  the  emblem  of  majesty.  In  heathen  mythol- 
ogy it  was  a  great  favorite  with  Juno,  and  was  consecrated 
to  her  by  heathen  nations.  The  Jews  imitated  its  form  in 
their  first  magnificent  temple',  and  the  Savior  described  it  as 
more  splendid  than  King  Solomon  in  his  most  gorgeous  ap- 
parel. 

5.  Observe  the  rising  lily's  snowy  grace^ ; 
Observe  the  various  vegetable  race^ ; 

They  neither  toil  nor  spin,  but  careless  grow ; 

Yet,  see  how  warm  they  blush^  1  how  bright  they  glow^ ! 

What  regal  vestments  can  with  them  compare^  ? 

What  king  so  shining',  or  what  queen  so  fair^  ? — Thomson. 

6.  Among  the  flowers  of  the  Lily  family,  the  crown  imperial, 
or  fritillaria,  is  noted  for  its  drooping  but  brilliant  tulip- 


188  willson's  Fiifrru  reader.  Part  IV, 

shaped  corollas,  which  have  the  appearance  of  so  many  gay 
bells,  or  crowns.  Its'  golden  stigma  is  very  appropriately 
described  as 

"  The  dazzling  gem 
That  beams  in  fritillaria'B  diadem." 

The  tulip^  another  member  of  the  Lily  family,  is  especially 
noted  for  a  sort  of  mania  among  the  florists  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  who  bought  and  sold  single  bulbs  at  prices 
amounting  to  five  hundred  pounds  sterling  and  upward — in 
those  days  an  immense  sum.  Although  the  taste  for  tulips 
has  greatly  declined  since  that  period,  the  tulip  is  still  con- 
sidered by  many  as  "  the  king  of  florist's  flowers."  How 
highly  the  poet  Montgomery  prized  it  may  be  gathered  from 
the  following  lines : 

7.  *'  Not  one  of  Flora's  brilliant  race 

A  form  more  perfect  can  display : 
Art  could  not  feign  more  simple  grace, 

Nor  nature  take  a  line  away. 
Yet,  rich  as  morn,  of  many  a  hue, 

When  flus<hing  cloudrt  through  darkness  strike, 
The  tulip's  pJlals  shine  like  dew. 

All  beautiful,  but  none  alike." 

8.  Highest  in  the  division  of  Endogens  stands  the  Palm 
family,  embracing  the  stately  palm-trees  of  the  tropics,  and 
the  palmettos  of  the  Southern  States.  "  The  race  of  plants 
to  which  the  name  of  Palms  has  been  assigned,"  says  Lindley, 
"  is,  no  doubt,  the  most  interesting  in  the  vegetable  kingdom, 
if  we  consider  the  majestic  aspect  of  their  towering  stems, 
crowned  by  a  still  more  gigantic  foliage ;  the  character,  of 
grandeur  which  they  impress  upon  the  landscape  of  the  coun- 
tries they  inhabit ;  their  immense  value  to  mankind,  as  afibrd- 
ing  food,  and  raiment,  and  numerous  objects  of  economical 
importance ;  or,  finally,  the  prodigious  development  of  those 
organs  by  which  their  race  is  to  be  propagated.  A  single 
spatlie  or  flower-stem  of  the  date  palm  contains  about  twelve 
thousand  flowers,  and  another  species  has  been  computed  to 
have  six  hundred  thousand  upon  a  single  individual;  while 
every  bunch  of  the  seje  palm  of  the  Orinoco  bears  eight  thou- 
sand fruits." 

9.  The  variety  of  forms  which  they  exhibit  is  briefly  but 
well  described  in  the  following  language  of  the  celebrated 
traveler  Hmnboldt.  "  While  some  have  trunks  as  slender  as 
the  graceful  reed,  or  longer  than  the  longest  cable,  others  are 
three  and  even  five  feet  thick ;  while  some  grow  collected  in 
groups,  others  singly  dart  their  slender  trunks  into  the  air ; 
while  some  have  a  low  stem,  others  tower  to  the  height  of 
nearly  two  hundred  feet ;  and  while  one  part  flourishes  in  the 


2d  DiV,  OP  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OB   BOTANY.  1 89 

[Palm  Family.— ENi>OGENOtrs  or  Monocottledonous  ;  Aglumaceous.y 


1.  Cor'ypha  umbraculif'era^  Great  fan  palm,  or  Tallipot  palm,  vi.  1,  y.,  100  f.,  Jl.,  E. 
Indies.  (The  topmost  leaves  form  immense  fans,  twenty  feet  long  and  fifteen  wide.)  2. 
Sa'gus  rum'phii,  Rumphius's  sago  palm,  xix.  6,  g.,  50  f.,  Jl.-Au.,  E.  Indies.  3.  Co'cus 
nuci/'era,  Cocoanut  palm,  xix.  6,  g.,  Jl.-Au.,  50  f,  E.  Indies.  4.  Phoe'nix  dactiVfera^ 
Date  palm,  xx.  3,  w.  and  g.,  50  f.,  W.  Asia.  5.  FAa'is  Guineen'sis^  Guinea  oil  palm,  xx. 
6,  w.  and  g.,  30  f.,  Guinea.  6.  Chamce'rops  hys'trix^  Porcupine  palm,  xx.  2,  w.  and  g., 
10  f.,  Georgia. 

low  valleys  of  the  tropics,  or  on  the  declivities  of  the  lower 
mountains,  another  part  consists  of  hardy  mountaineers,  bor- 
dering on  the  limits  of  perpetual  snow." 

10.  The  cocoanut  palm,  which  grows  abundantly  in  the 
East  Indies,  supplies  nearly  every  want  of  the  native  inhabit- 
ants. Travelers  have  described  the  uses  which  the  native 
of  Ceylon  makes  of  it.  He  builds  his  house  of  its  trunk,  and 
thatches  the  roof  with  its  leaves.  His  children  sleep  in  a 
rude  hammock  made  of  the  husk  of  the  fruit;  his  meal  of  rice 
and  scraped  cocoanut  is  boiled  over  a  fire  made  of  cocoanut 
shells  and  husks,  and  is  eaten  from  a  dish  of  plaited  green 
leaves  of  the  tree,  with  a  spoon  cut  out  of  a  cocoanut  shell. 

11.  In  his  canoe,  made  of  the  trunk  of  the  palm-tree,  he  car- 
ries a  torch  of  dried  palm  leaves,  and  fishes  with  a  net  of 
cocoanut  fibre.  When  thirsty  he  drinks  the  juice  of  the 
cocoanut,  and  when  hungry  eats  its  soft  kernel.  He  makes 
a  drink  called  arrack  from  the  fermented  juice,  and  dances 
to  the  music  of  cocoanut  castanets.  He  anoints  himself  with 
cocoanut  oil,  and,  when  sick,  gets  his  medicine  from  the  tree 


190 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   EEADEB. 


PahtIV. 


SO  useful  to  him  in  health.  Over  his  couch  in  infancy,  and 
over  his  grave,  a  bunch  of  cocoanut  blossoms  is  hung  to 
charm  away  evil  spirits. 

12.  Branches  of  palm  were  anciently  carried  in  token  of 
victory,  but  more  generally  it  was  reserved  for  reHgious  tri- 
umphs ;  and  from  this,  as  well  as  from  the  prominent  place  it 

occupies  in  Holy  Writ,  we 
feel  the  epithet  of  "celestial 
palm,"  bestowed  on  it  by 
Pope,  not  inapplicable.  No 
wonder  that  the  Arab  loves 
the  palm,  which  he  converts 
to  so  many  uses — of  food,  and 
drink,  and  raiment,  and  shel- 
ter—  and  that  he  places  it 
among  the  foremost  objects 
of  his  affections. 

13.  The  palmetto,  which 
grows  in  South  Carolina,  and 
farther  south,  is  the  only  rep- 
resentative of  the  Palm  fam- 
ily north  of  the  Gulf  of  Mex- 
ico. It  will  be  recollected  that 
the  fort  on  Sullivan's  Island, 
so  gallantly  defended  by  Col- 
onel Moultrie  in  1776,  was 
constructed  of  palmetto  logs, 
and  that,  owing  to  the  soft 
nature  of  the  wood,  the  balls 
of  the  enemy  had  but  little- 
effect  to  injure  it.  The  palmetto  has  been  appropriately 
placed  on  the  coat  of  arms  of  South  Carolina. 

1  A-QLTT-MA^-OKons  plants  are  such  as  have  not  the  glumes  or  husks  which  characterize  the 
gruiuH  and  grasses. 


Carolina  Palmetto. 


LESSON  XX. — SEajGKS  and  grasses. 

1.  Sedges  are  grass-like  herbs,  growing  in  tufts,  and  never 
acquiring  a  shrubby  condition.  So  nearly  do  they  resemble 
grasses  in  appearance,  that  the  one  may  bo  readily  mistaken 
for  the  other  by  the  inexperienced  ;  but,  unlike  grasses,  the 
stems  of  sedges  are  usually  angular,  never  hollow,  and  not 
completely  jointed ;  and,  moreover,  when  the  leaf-stalks  of 
sedges  surround  the  stem,  they  grow  together  by  their  edges 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR  BOTANY. 

[Endogenous  or  Monooottuedonous  ;  Glumaceous.y 


191 


1.  6'c/iCP'nMS  imici07ia'his.  Clustered  bog-rush,  iii.  1,  (ap.),  1  f.,  A.-My.,  S.  Europe. 
Scir'pus  lacus'tris^  Tall  club-nish,  Iii.  1,  (ap),  6  f.,  Jl.-Au.,  Britain.  3.  Scir'pus  triqtie'- 
ter^  Triangular  club-rush,  iii.  1,  (ap,),  3  f.,  Au.,  Eng.  4.  Cype'rus  vege'tus^  Smooth  marsh- 
sedge,  iii.  1,  (ap.),  18  in..  My. -An.,  N.  Am.  5.  Phle'um  pratcn'se,  Timothy  grass,  with 
portions  of  tlie  flower  magnified,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  2  f,,  Jl.,  N.  Am.  6.  Trictts'jiis  quinque'fida, 
English  red-top,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  2  f.,  Jn.-Jl.,  N.  Am.  7.  Po'a  aquat'ica^  Water  meadow-grass, 
iii.  2,  (ap.),  6  f.,  Jl.,  N.  Am.  and  Britain.  8.  Agros'tis  vulga'ris^  American  red-top,  with  the 
flower  magnified,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  18  in.,  Jn.,  N.  Am.  9.  Bri'za  me'dia^  Common  quaking- 
"".  2,  (ap.),  18  in.,  Jn.,  Britain. 


into  a  perfect  sheath.  The  plants  of  this  family  are  of  little 
value  as  nutriment  to  man  or  beast ;  but  they  are  found  in  all 
parts  of  the  worM,  in  marshes,  ditches,  running  streams,  in 
meadows  and  on  heaths,  in  groves  and  forests,  on  the  flowing 
sands  of  the  sea-shore,  on  the  tops  of  mountains,  from  the  arc- 
tic to  the  antarctic  circle,  wherever  flowering  vegetation  can 
exist. 

2.  That  the  Grasses  occupy  a  very  diflerent  position  in  the 
vegetable  kingdom  will  at  once  be  apparent  when  we  remark 
that  in  this  family  are  found  such  plants  as  rye,  oats,  barley, 
maize  or  Indian  corn,  rice,  sugar-cane,  bamboo,  and  reeds,  as 
well  as  the  ordinary  grasses.  Of  about  four  thousand  spe- 
cies, of  which  this  numerous  and  valuable  family  consists,  only 
a  single  one,  the  poisonous  darnel,  is  known  to  be  injurious  to 
man.  All  the  grasses  are  provided  with  true  flowers,  that  is, 
with  stamens  and  pistils,  but  there  is  little  trace  of  the  calyx 
and  corolla.  The  general  appearance  of  the  common  grass- 
es is  so  well-known  that  we  need  not  describe  it ;  nor  need 
we  speak  of  their  wide  distribution,  for  every  body  knows 


192  WILLSON's  fifth  EEADEB.  Part  IV. 

that  they  "  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where,"  as  is  pretti- 
ly told  in 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  GRASS. 

8.  Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where : 

You  can  not  see  me  coming, 
Nor  hear  my  low,  sweet  humming  ; 
For  in  the  starry  night. 
And  the  glad  morning  light, 
I  come  quietly  creeping  every  where. 

4.  Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  wher^  ; 

More  welcome  than  the  flowers 
In  summer's  pleasant  hours; 
The  gentle  cow  is  glad, 
And  the  merry  bird  not  sad, 
To  see  me  creeping  every  where. 

5.  Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where ; 

When  you're  number'd  with  the  dead 
In  your  still  and  narrow  bed. 
In  the  happy  spring  I'll  come 
And  deck  your  silent  home — 
Creeping  silently,  creeping  every  where. 

6.  Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  every  where ; 

My  humble  song  of  praise 
Most  joyfully  I  raise 
To  Him  at  whose  command 
I  beautify  the  land, 
Creeping,  silently  creeping  every  where. — Sabah  Robebts. 

7.  Of  the  immense  value  of  the  cereals  to  mankind  we  need 
not  attempt  to  form  an  estimate ;  for  how  could  human  life, 
in  one  half  of  the  globe,  be  sustained  without  them  ?  And  as 
to  the  grasses  proper,  they  are  the  principal  food  of  the  most 
valuable  of  the  domestic  animals.  In  the  United  States  alone, 
the  value  of  agricultural  products  belonging  to  this  great 
family  is  estimated  at  not  less  than  seven  hundred  millions 
of  dollars  annually !  And  what  an  amount  of  labor  is  bestow- 
ed upon  their  cultivation !  What  variety  and  extent  of  inter- 
ests are  dependent  upon  the  seasonable  rain,  and  the  dew,  and 
the  sunshine,  which  our  heavenly  Father  sends  to  bring  them 
to  perfection !  And  what  anxieties  are  felt  about  those 
scourges  from  insects,  and  storms,  and  blight,  and  mildew, 
that  occasionally  injure,  and  threaten  to  destroy  them  ! 

8.  Wheat, "  golden  wheat,"  of  which  there  are  reckoned 
three  hundred  varieties,  is  supposed  to  have  been,  aace,  an 
unprofitable  grass  growing  wild  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, and  to  have  become,  by  cultivation,  the  most  valuable 
of  all  vegetable  products.  It  is  now  difficult  to  tell  what  are 
mere  varieties  and  what  are  distinct  species ;  certain  it  is, 
that  though  it  thrives  best  when  treated  as  a  biennial — sown 
in  autumn  and  harvested  the  following  summer — yet  winter- 
wheat  sown  in  spring  will  ripen  the  same  year,  though  the 
produce  of  succeeding  generations  of  spring-sown  wheat  is 
found  to  ripen  better ;  white,  red,  and  beardless  wheat  change 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY. 

[Cbeeaia — Eni>ogbnou8  or  Monoootylkdonous  ;  Glumaceotis.y 


193 


1.  Trit'icum  hyber'num.  Winter  wheat,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  4  f.,  Jn.-JL,  unknown.  2,  Trit'- 
icum  compos'itum^  Egyptian  wheat,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  3i  f.,  Jn.-Jl.,  Egypt.  3.  Trit'icum  spe'lta. 
Spelter  wheat,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  3t  f.,  Jn.-Jl.,  Egypt.  4.  Seca'le  cerea'le^  Common  rye,  iii.  2, 
(ap.),  4  f.,  Jn.-Jl.,  Crimea.  5.  Sac'charum  oflicina'rum,  Sugar-cane,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  12  f., 
Au.,  India.  6.  Ave'nm  fa'tua^  Wild  oat,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  4  f.,  Au.,  Britain.  7.  Hor'deum  vul- 
fia're^  Spring  barley,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  3  f.,  Jl.,  Sicily.  8.  Mil'iuvi  effu'sum^  Common  millet, 
iii,  2,  (ap.),  4  f.,  Jn.-Jl.,  Britain.  9.  Trit'icum  Polon'icum^  Polish  wheat,  iii.  2,  (ap.),  4f., 
Jn.-Jl.,  Egypt. 

and  run  into  each  other  on  different  soils  and  in  different  cli- 
mates ;  and  even  the  Egyptian  wheat  is  known  to  change  to 
the  single-spiked  common  plant. 

9.  The  American  reader  will  recollect  that  in  Europe  wheat 
is  called  corn,  a  term  which  we  apply  only  to  maize  or  Indian 
corn.  The  latter  was  found  cultivated  for  food  by  the  In- 
dians of  both  North  and  South  America  on  the  first  discov- 
ery of  the  continent,  and  from  this  circumstance  it  derived  its 
popular  name.  It  is  still  found  growing,  in  a  wild  state,  in 
the  humid  forests  of  Paraguay,  where,  instead  of  having  each 
grain  naked  as  is  always  the  case  after  long  cultivation,  each 
is  completely  covered  with  glumes  or  husks.  The  varieties 
produced  by  cultivation  are  numerous. 

10.  Indian  corn  furnishes  a  fine  example  of  those  plants 
which  have  staminate  flowers  on  one  part  of  the  plant  and 
pistillate  on  another.  Thus  the  staminate  flowers  of  the  corn 
are  those  loose  yellow  branches  which  grow  at  the  top  of  the 
stalk,  while  the  pistillate,  hidden  among  the  lower  leaves,  arc 


194  willson's  fifth  EEADEIJ.  Pakt  IV. 

only  discovered  by  their  long  shining  styles  which  hang  from 
the  ears  in  tufts  like  silken  tassels.  One  peculiarity  noticed  in 
nearly  all  the  members  of  the  Grass  family  is  the  exceeding 
hardness  of  the  outer  covering  of  their  stems,  which  is  caused 
by  a  thin  coating  of  flinty  or  silicious  matter.  The  sharp  edge 
of  a  blade  of  grass  has  often  cut  the  flesh  of  curious  or  careless 
boys  in  the  experiment  of  drawing  it  through  their  fingers. 

11.  Numerous  and  abundant,  throughout  all  literature,  are 
the  tributes  of  praise  with  which  poetry  has  striven  to  en- 
shrine in  our  affections  the  valuable  cereals  we  cultivate. 
The  ancients,  in  their  mythology,  placed  agriculture  above  all 
other  pursuits,  and  called  Cekes,  who  was  the  fabled  goddess 
of  grain  and  harvests,  the  Great  Goddess^  and  the  Mighty 
Mother,  Songs  and  festivals  celebrated  her  benevolent  gifts 
to  man ;  and  when  we  come  down  to  later  ages,  we  find  that 
songs  to  the  "Harvest  Moon,"  and  songs  of  "Harvest  Home," 
have  ever  been  the  most  popular  of  national  melodies. 

12.  Pleasing '  tis,  O  harvest-moon ! 
Now  the  night  is  at  her  noon, 

,  'Neath  thy  sway  to  musing  lie. 

While  around  the  zephyrs  nigh, 
Fanning  soft  the  sun-tanned  wheat, 
llipened  by  the  summer's  heat ; 
Picturing  all  the  rustic's  joy 
When  boundless  plenty  greets  his  eye. 

And  thinking  soon, 

O  harvest-moon ! 
How  many  a  gladsome  eye  will  roam 

Along  the  road, 

To  see  the  load, 
The  last  dear  load  of  harvest-home.— Henbt  Eibks  Whitb. 

As  a  suitable  closing  of  this  lesson  we  must  extend  it  still 
farther,  and  give  place  to  the  following,  which  is  both  appro- 
priate to  the  subject,  and  to  be  admired  for  the  associations 
which  it  recalls. 

CORN-FIELDS. 
(Com  is  a  term  applied  in  Europe  to  all  the  cereals.) 

13,  When  on  the  breath  of  autumn-breeze. 

From  pastures  dry  and  brown, 
Goes  floating  like  an  idle  thought 

The  fair  white  thistle-down, 
Oh  then  what  joy  to  walk  at  will 
Upon  the  golden  harvest  hill ! 

14,  What  joy  in  dreamy  ease  to  lie 

Amid  a  field  new  shorn. 
And  see  all  round,  on  sunlit  slopes, 

The  piled-up  stacks  of  com  ; 
And  send  the  fancy  wandering  o'er 
All  pleasant  harvest-fipUls  of  yore. 
IR,  %  I  feel  the  day— 1  see  the  field. 

The  quivering  of  the  leaves, 
And  good  old  Jacob  and  hif<  house 

Binding  the  yellow  sheaves ; 
And  at  this  very  hour  I  seem 
To  be  with  Joseph  in  his  dream. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  195 

16.  I  see  the  fields  of  Bethlehem, 
%  And  reapers  many  a  one, 

Bending  unto  their  sickle's  stroke — 

And  Boaz  looking  on  ; 
And  Ruth,  the  Moabite  so  fair, 
Among  the  gleaners  stooping  there. 

17.  The  sun-bathed  quiet  of  the  hills, 

The  fields  of  Galilee, 
That  eighteen  hundred  years  ago 

Were  full  of  corn,  I  see  ; 
And  the  dear  Savior  takes  his  way 
'Mid  ripe  ears  on  the  Sabbath-day. 

18.  Oh  golden  fields  of  bending  com, 

How  beautiful  they  seem ! 
The  reaper-folk,  the  piled-up  sheavee. 

To  me  are  like  a  dream. 
The  sunshine  and  the  very  air 
Seem  of  old  time,  and  take  me  there. — Maet  Howitt. 

1  Glu-ma'-ceous  plants  are  those  which  have  glumes,  like  the  husk  or  chaflf  of  the  grains 
and  grasses. 


LESSON   XXI. — OF   THE    HIDDEN    USES    OF   PLANTS. 

There  be  in  plants 
Influences  yet  unthought,  and  virtues,  and  many  inventions, 
And  uses  above  and  around,  which  man  hath  not  yet  regarded. 
Not  long,  to  charm  away  disease,  hath  the  crocus  yielded  up  its  bulb, 
Nor  the  willow  lent  its  bark,  nor  the  nightshade  its  vanquished  poison ; 
Not  long  hath  the  twisted  leaf,  the  fragrant  gift  of  China, 
Nor  that  nutritious  root,  the  boon  of  far  Peru, 
Nor  the  many-colored  dahlia,  nor  the  gorgeous  flaunting  cactus, 
Nor  the  multitude  of  fruits  and  flowers  ministered  to  life  and  luxury  : 
Even  so,  there  be  virtues  yet  unknown  in  the  wasted  foliage  of  the  elm, 
In  the  sun-dried  harebell  of  the  downs,  and  the  hyacinth  drinking  in  the 

meadow, 
In  the  sycamore's  winged  fruit,  and  the  facet-cut  cones  of  the  cedar; 
And  the  pansy  and  bright  geranium  live  not  alone  for  beauty. 
Nor  the  waxen  flower  of  the  arbute,  though  it  dieth  in  a  day. 
Nor  the  sculptured  crest  of  the  fir,  unseen  but  by  the  stars ; 
And  the  meanest  weed  of  the  garden  servcth  unto  many  uses, 
The  salt  tamarisk,  and  juicy  flag,  the  freckled  orchis,  and  the  daisy. 
The  world  may  laugh  at  famine  when  forest  trees  yield  bread. 
When  acorns  give  out  fragrant  drink,  and  the  sap  of  the  linden  is  as  fatness : 
For  every  green  herb,  from  the  lotus  to  the  darnel, 
Is  rich  with  delicate  aids  to  help  incurious  man. — M.  F.  Tupper. 


There  is  perhaps  no  pursuit  which  leads  the  mind  more  directly  to  an  ap- 
preciation of  that  wisdom  and  goodness  which  pervade  creation,  than  the 
study  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  in  which  infinite  variety,  beauty,  and  ele- 
gance, singularity  of  structure,  the  nicest  adaptations,  and  the  most  pre- 
eminent utility,  meet  us  at  every  step,  and  compel  us  to  observe  and  learn, 
even  when  often  the  least  disposed  to  inquiry  or  reflection. — Chambers. 


196 


willson's  fifth  eeadeb. 


Pakt  IV. 


THIED  DIVISION.    CRYPTOGAMOUS  PLANTS. 

[€ryp-tng'-a-mou8,  or  Flowerless  Plants,  are  divided  into  two  classes,  Ac'-ro-gens  and 
Thai' -lo-gens ;  the  leading  physiological  peculiarities  of  wliich  are, 

lat.  The  stem  of  an  Acrogens  grows  from  the  end,  but  does  not  increase  in  diameter. 
Acrogens  have  breathing  pores,  or  stomata,  in  their  skin  or  covering ;  their  leaves  and 
stem  are  distinctly  separated  ;  they  produce  no  flowers,  but  multiply  l)y  reproductive  sphe- 
roids or  spores,  somewhat  analogous  to  seeds,  but  whose  nature  is  not  wM  known. 

2d,  Thallogen8  are  mere  masses  of  cells;  they  have  no  stomata  or  breathing  pores, 
foliage,  or  flowers ;  and  they  multiply  by  the  spontaneous  formation  in  their  interior,  or 
upon  their  surface,  of  reproductive  spheroids  called  spores.] 

LES.  XXII. — FERNS,  LIVERWORTS,  AND  MOSSES.      (aCROGENS.) 


1.  PoUfpo'dium  vulga're^  Common  poIyp'ody,or  Wall  fern,  xxi.  1,  brown,  1  f ,  My.-O. 
2.  Struthiop'teria  Pennsj/lva'nicn,  Ostrich  feni,  xxi.  1,  br.,2f.,  Au.  3.  Pte'ris  atropur- 
pu'rea^  Rock  brake,  xxi.  1,  br.,  10  in.,  Au.-S.  4.  Aspid'inm  Theliip'teris^  T^dy  fern,  xiL 
1, 1  f.,  br.,  Jl.-Au.  6.  Marchan'tia  poliimor'pha^  Variable  liverwort,  xxi.  6,  dark  green,  2 
in.,  moist  rocks,  winter.  6.  Autho'ceros  puneta'ta^  Dotted  liverwort,  xxi.  C,  ppring,  dark 
preen,  1^  in.,  damp  places.  7.  Spfiag'nuni  ohtusifo'lium.,  Peat  mos.",  xxi.  6,  y.  and  g., 
bogs,  7  in.  8.  O/rtnnos'lomum  viridi'a'simum.  Green  moss,  xxi.  5,  bright  green,  trees  and 
rocks,  1  in.  9.  Orivi'mia  apocar'pa^  Alpine  moss,  xxi.  5,  dark  olive,  U  in.,  dense  tufts 
on  rocks  and  trees.  10.  Ortho'trichiim  cris'pum^  Crisp  nios.s  xxi.  5,  bright  green,  1  in., 
trees.  11.  Grim'mia  pulvina'ta^  Cushion  moss,  xxi.  5,  bright  groen,  \  in.,  house-tops. 
12.  Jkirtra'mia  Uallpria'na^  Mountain  moss,  xxi.  ft,  bright  green,  6  in.,  mountains,  13. 
Hyp'numimura'le^  Wall  moss,  xxi.  5,  light  green,  IJ  in.,  walls  and  stones. 

1.  We  come  now  to  a  very  sinf]^nlar  division  of  the  vege- 
table world,  embracing  a  vast  multitude  of  plants  whfch  dif- 
fer from  those  before  described  in  having  no  flowers  for  the 
production  of  seed  and  fruit.  They  indeed  bear  no  true  seeds, 
but  are  propagated  by  innuinorablo  small  germs  called  spores. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  197 

ready  to  grow  where  they  find  a  proper  home,  which  is  some- 
times a  piece  of  bread,  or  cheese,  or  decaying  wood.  Among 
these  plants  the  highest  in  order  are  the  ferns^  which  are 
more  Hke  flowering  plants  than  any  other  family  of  the  cryp- 
togamia ;  yet  even  in  them  no  true  flower  is  ever  seen ;  and 
what  are  sometimes  called  their  seeds,  and  which  are  so  mi- 
nute as  to  present  to  the  eye  only  an  impalpable^  powder,  are 
found  gathered  in  brown  spots  or  lines  on  the  under  surface 
oii\iQ  fronds  or  leafy  portions  of  the  mature  plant. 

"  'Tis  there  the  fern  displays  its  fluted  wreath, 
Beaded  beneath  with  drops  of  richest  brown." 

2.  Ferns  thrive  best  in  damp  places,  though  they  sometimes 
grow  in  pastures  and  on  dry  hill-sides.  Thus  it  has  been  said 
of  one  of  the  beautiful  plants  of  this  family : 

"  Where  the  copsewood  is  the  greenest, 
Where  the  fountain  glistens  8heenest,2 
Where  the  morning  dew  lies  longest, 
There  the  Lady  Fern  grows  strongest." 

The  ferns  growing  in  the  Great  Dismal  Swamp  of  Virginia 
are  more  than  four  feet  in  height ;  and  in  tropical  countries 
the  tree  fern  rises  to  the  height  of  thirty  or  forty  feet.  One 
of  the  most  interesting  peculiarities  of  ferns  is  the  spiral  man- 
ner in  which  the  leaflets  are  coiled  up  before  their  first  ap- 
pearance, each  one  being  rolled  in  toward  the  rib  that  sup- 
ports it — a  peculiarity  which  has  been  very  prettily  noticed 
in  the  following  lines : 

3.  "  Have  ye  ever  watched  it  budding, 

With  each  stem  and  leaf  wrapped  small. 
Coiled  up  within  each  other 
Like  a  round  and  hairy  ball  ? 

4.  Have  ye  watched  that  ball  unfolding 

Each  closely  nestling  curl. 
And  its  fair  and  feathery  leaflets 
Their  spreading  forms  unfurl? 
6.  Oh,  then  most  gracefully  they  wave 

In  the  forest  like  a  sea, 
And  dear  as  they  are  beautiful 
Are  these /em  leaves  to  me." 

6.  It  having  been  ascertained  that  ferns  were  propagated 
by  seeds,  although  the  flower,  if  there  were  any,  was  too  mi- 
nute to  be  detected  even  by  the  most  powerful  microscope, 
there  was  a  mystery  thrown  over  the  plant,  which  naturally 
gave  rise  to  many  poetic  fancies,  one  of  which  was  the  power 
of  rendering  invisible  the  person  who  was  so  fortunate  as  to 
possess  the  seed ;  and  to  this  fancied  property  we  find  an  al- 
lusion in  Shakspeare : 

"We  have  the  receipt  of  fern-seed;  we  walk  invisible." 

1.  Scarcely  any  flowering  plants  have  been  greater  favorites 


198  WILLSON's  fifth  header.  Paet  IV. 

with  all  classes  of  persons  than  ferns ;  nor  is  this  to  be  won- 
dered at  when  we  consider  both  their  intrinsic  beauty,  and 
their  association  with  all  that  is  wild  and  romantic  in  scenery, 
where  mountain  and  valley,  rocks  and  shaded  fountains,  com- 
bine their  fascinating  influence  upon  the  imagination.  Their 
embellishment  of  rugged  and  wild  mountain  scenery  has  been 
embalmed  in  the  poetry  of  Scott.  He  sometimes  prefers  the 
Caledonian  name  of  brake  or  bracken  to  that  oifem.  In  pic- 
turing to  the  eye  the  sudden  rise  and  disappearance  of  the 
soldiers  of  Roderick  Dhu,  when  he  gave  the  signal "  whistle 
shrill,  and  was  answered  from  the  hill,"  we  see  heath,.broom, 
and  bracken  forming  the  ambuscade. 

8.  "•  Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 

Bonnets,  and  spears,  and  bended  bows  ; 
On  right,  on  left,  above,  below, 
Sprung  up,  at  once,  the  lurking  foe; 
From  shingles  gray  their  lances  start. 
The  bracken  bush  sends  forth  the  dart. 
And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 
To  plaided  warrior  armed  for  strife, 
As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 
A  subterranean  host  had  given." 

9.  And  when,  after  a  suitable  pause,  the  chieftain 

"Waved  his  hand, 
Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band; 
)'2ach  warrior  vanished  where  he  stood. 
In  broom  or  bracken^  heath  or  wood ; 
It  seemed  as  if  their  mother  earth 
Had  swallowed  up  her  warlike  birth. 
The  wind's  last  breath  had  tossed  in  air 
Pennon,  and  plaid,  and  plumage  fair — 
The  next  but  swept  a  lone  hill-side, 
Where  heath  tmAfern  were  waving  wide; 
The  sun's  last  glance  was  glinted^  back 
From  spear  and  glaive,*  from  targe^  and  jack,* 
The  next,  all  unreflected,  slione 
On  bracken  green  and  cold  gray  stone." 

1 0.  There  is  an  interesting  family  of  plants,  called  Liver- 
worts^ belonging  to  the  same  class  as  the  ferns,  and  in  many 
respects  resembling  the  mosses.  Their  leafy  expansions  are 
soft  and  green  ;  they  are  usually  found  growing  on  moist  sur- 
faces, often  where  there  is  little  or  no  soil,  and  are  very  com- 
mon in  the  chinks  between  paving-stones  in  unfrequented 
places,  and  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  contained  in  garden- 
pots,  as  also  upon  walls  which  from  any  cause  are  kept  con- 
stantly damp.  Besides  the  seeds  which  grow  on  the  leaf,  as 
in  ferns,  some  of  the  liverworts  have  little  stalks  growing  from 
them,  and  bearing  on  tlieir  summit  flower-like  appendages 
which  contain  minute  bodies  that  seem  to  have  the  power 
of  spontaneously  detaching  themselves  from  their  birthplace. 
When  thrown  into  the  water  they  move  about  rapidly  like 
animalcula}. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  X99 

11.  But  mosses  are  perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  this  first 
division  of  the  Cryptogamia ;  and  to  them  we  proceed  in  the 
next  Lesson. 


Im-pal'-pa-ble,  that  can  not  be  felt;  not 


2  Sheen'-e8t,  brightest  (obsolete). 

3  Glint'-ed,  glanced ;  reflected. 


*  Glaive,  a  broadsword. 

5  Taege,  a  tiir'-get  or  shield. 

6  Jack,  a  coat  of  mail. 


LESSON  XXIII. — ^THE  MOSSES,     (acrogens.) 

[Note. — The  following  lines  apply,  perhaps,  more  appropriately  to  the  Lichens  than  to 
the  Mosses.     (See  Lesson  XXV.)     But  lichens  are  in  common  language  called  mosses.] 

1.  The  lovely  moss !  on  the  lowly  cot 

It  lies  like  an  emerald  crown, 
And  the  summer  shower  pierceth  it  not, 

As  it  comes  rushing  down ; 
And  I  love  its  freshened  brilliancy, 

When  the  last  rain  hath  pattered, 
And  the  sparkling  drops  on  its  surfiice  lie, 

like  stars  from  the  pure  sky  scattered. 

2.  And  I  love,  I  love  to  see  it  much, 

When  on  the  ruin  gray, 
That  crumbles  with  Time's  heavy  touch, 

It  spreads  its  mantle  gay  ; 
While  the  cold  ivy  only  gives. 

As  it  shivereth,  thoughts  of  fear. 
The  closely  clinging  moss  still  lives, 

Like  a  friend,  forever  near. 

3.  But  oh  1  I  love  the  bright  moss  most 

When  I  see  it  thickly  spread 
On  the  sculptured  stone,  that  fain  would  boast 

Of  its  forg:otten  dead. 
For  I  think  if  that  lowly  thing  can  efface 

The  fame  that  earth  hath  given, 
Who  is  there  that  would  ever  chase 

Glory,  save  that  of  Heaven  ?— Miss  M.  A  Bbowne. 

4.  Mosses  are  interesting  little  evergreens,  with  distinct 
leaves,  and  frequently  a  distinct  stem.  They  do  not,  like 
ferns,  bear  their  fructification  upon  the  leaves,  but  in  a  little 
case  or  urn  that  is  borne  on  a  long  distinct  stalk.  The  pulpy 
matter  that  is  contained  in  this  case  becomes  dry  in  ripening, 
and  when  arrived  at  maturity  it  flies  ofi'  in  the  form  of  an  ex- 
tremely subtile  powder,  which  serves  for  the  propagation  of 
the  plant. 

5.  Mosses  are  fond  of  moisture,  shade,  and  retirement ;  en- 
livening the  dark  recesses  of  solitude  by  the  vivid  green  of 
their  diminutive  foliage ;  and  it  is  with  "  jnossy  fountains," 
especially,  that  we  have  been  taught  to  associate  ideas  of 
"  cool  refreshment,"  and  the  quiet  of  nature  in  repose. 

While  we  view, 
Amid  the  noontide  walk,  a  limpid  rill 
Gush  through  the  trickling  herbage^  to  the  thirst 
Of  summer  jielding  the  delicious  draught 
Of  cool  refreshment,  o'er  the  mosmj  bank 
Shines  not  the  surface  clearer  ?  and  the  waves 
With  sweeter  music  murmur  as  tliev  flow? — AKENsmE. 


200  willson's  fifth  reader.  PabtIV. 

6.  Mosses  are  found  in  the  hottest  as  well  as  the  coldest 
climates,  growing  alike  amid  torrid  sands  and  arctic  snows ; 
and  when  a  coral  island  springs  up  above  the  crested  wave, 
the  green  moss  first  crowns  its  barren  summit,  and  prepares 
the  living  rock  for  the  growth  of  higher  forms  of  vegetation. 
It  was  by  the  contemplation  of  a  delicate  moss  plant  that  the 
heart  of  Mungo  Park,  the  African  traveler,  was  revived, 
when  the  difficulties  by  which  he  was  surrounded  had  almost 
extinguished  hope  within  him.  The  passage  has  been  often 
quoted,  but,  it  may  be  hoped,  never  without  its  use,  and  it 
does  not  seem  superfluous  to  introduce  it  here. 

V.  This  enterprising  traveler,  during  one  of  his  journeys 
into  the  interior  of  Africa,  was  cruelly  stripped  and  robbed 
of  all  that  he  possessed  by  banditti.  "  In  this  forlorn  and 
almost  helpless  condition,"  he  says, "  when  the  robbers  had 
left  me,  I  sat  for  some  time  looking  around  me  with  amaze- 
ment and  terror.  Whichever  way  I  turned,  nothing  appear- 
ed but  danger  and  difficulty.  I  found  myself  in  the  midst  of 
a  vast  wilderness,  in  the  depth  of  the  rainy  season — naked 
and  alone — surrounded  by  savage  animals,  and  by  men  still 
more  savage.  I  was  five  hundred  miles  from  any  European 
settlement.  All  these  circumstances  crowded  at  once  upon 
my  recollection,  and  I  confess  that  my  spirits  began  to  fail 
me.  I  considered  my  fate  as  certain,  and  that  I  had  no  alter- 
native but  to  lie  down  and  perish. 

8.  "  The  influence  of  religion,  however,  aided  and  support- 
ed me.  I  reflected  that  no  human  prudence  or  foresight  could 
possibly  have  averted  my  present  suflerings.  I  was  indeed 
a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  yet  I  was  still  under  the  protect- 
ing eye  of  that  Providence  who  has  condescended  to  call  him- 
self the  stranger's  friend.  At  this  moment,  painful  as  my  re- 
flections were,  the  extraordinary  beauty  of  a  small  moss  ir- 
resistibly caught  my  eye;  and  though  the  whole  plant  Avas 
not  larger  than  the  top  of  one  of  my  fingers,  I  could  not  con- 
template the  delicate  conformation  of  its  roots,  leaves,  and 
fruit  without  admiration.  -Can  that  Being  (thought  I)  who 
planted,  watered,  and  brought  to  perfection,  in  this  obscure 
part  of  the  world,  a  thing  which  appears  of  so  small  import- 
ance, look  with  unconcern  upon  the  situation  and  suftering 
of  creatures  formed  after  his  own  image  ?  Surely  not.  Re- 
flections like  these  would  not  allow  me  to  despair.  I  started 
up,  and,  disregarding  both  Imnger  and  fatigue,  traveled  for- 
ward, assured  that  relief  was  at  hand;  and  I  was  not  disap- 
pointed." 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  201 

9.  A  distinguished  French  writer,  Rousseau,  was  particu- 
larly fond  of  mosses.  He  would  often  say  that  they  gave  an 
air  of  youth  and  freshness  to  our  fields,  adorning  nature  when 
flowers  had  vanished.  The  moss  is  a  useful  plant  also.  The 
Laplanders  protect  their  humble  dwellings  with  moss,  and 
line  the  cradles  of  their  little  ones  with  it.  May  not  this  ex- 
plain why  a  tuft  of  moss  is  an  emblem  of  maternal  love  ? 
Little  birds  also  select  the  delicate  moss  for  their  nests,  and 
squirrels  convey  it  to  their  winter  abodes. 

10.  "  Within  a  thick  and  spreading  hawthorn  bush, 

That  overhangs  a  molehill  large  and  round, 
I  heard,  from  morn  to  morn,  a  merry  thrush 
Sing  hymns  to  sunrise,  and  I  drank  the  sound 
With  joy ;  and,  often  an  intruding  guest, 
I  watched  her  secret  toils  from  day  to  day — 
How  true  she  warped  the  moss  to  form  a  nest, 
And  modeled  it  within  with  wood  and  clay." 

11.  And  now,  having  described  the  ferns  and  the  mosses, 
and  illustrated  them  with  drawings,  we  will  conclude  the  first 
division  of  the  Flowerless  Plants  with  the  following  beauti- 
ful lines  by  Eliza  Cook,  which  show  very  forcibly  the  wisdom 
of -God  in  creating  different  species  of  plants,  as  well  as  in 
permitting  the  various  degrees  of  what  men  call  prosperity 
to  different  classes  in  society. 


LESSON    XXIV. — THE   FEKN   AND   THE   MOSS. 

1.  There  was  a  fern  on  the  mountain,  and  moss  on  the  moor ; 
And  the  ferns  were  the  rich,  and  the  mosses  the  poor. 

And  the  glad  breeze  blew  gayly ;  from  Heaven  it  came, 
And  the  fragrance  it  shed  over  each  was  the  same  ; 
And  the  warm  sun  shone  brightly,  and  gilded  the  fern, 
And  smiled  on  the  lowly-born  moss  in  its  turn ; 
And  the  cool  dews  of  night  on  the  mountain  fern  fell, 
And  they  glistened  upon  the  green  mosses  as  well. 
And  the  fern  loved  the  mountain,  the  moss  loved  the  moor, 
For  the  ferns  were  the  rich,  and  the  mosses  the  poor. 

2.  But  the  keen  blast  blew  bleakly,  the  sun  waxed  high, 
And  the  ferns  they  were  broken,  and  withered,  and  dry ; 
And  the  moss  on  the  moorland  grew  faded  and  pale, 
And  the  fern  and  the  moss  shrank  alike  from  the  gale. 
So  the  fern  on  the  mountain,  the  moss  on  the  moor, 
Were  withered  and  black  where  they  flourished  before. 

3.  Then  the  fern  and  the  moss  they  grew  wiser  in  grief, 
And  each  turned  to  the  other  for  rest  and  relief ; 

And  they  planned  that  wherever  the  fern-roots  should  grow, 
There  surely  the  moss  should  be  sparkling  below. 

4.  And  the  keen  blasts  blew  bleakly,  the  sun  waxed  fierce ; 
But  no  wind  and  no  sun  to  their  cool  roots  could  pierce : 

I  2 


202 


willson's  fifth  readek. 


Part  IV. 


For  the  fern  threw  her  shadow  the  green  moss  upon, 
Where  the  dew  ever  sparkled  undried  by  the  sun ; 
When  the  graceful  fern  trembled  before  the  keen  blast, 
The  moss  guarded  her  roots  till  the  storm-wind  had  passed ; 
So  no  longer  the  wind  parched  the  roots  of  the  one. 
And  the  other  was  safe  from  the  rays  of  the  sun. 
And  thus,  and  forever,  where'er  the  ferns  grow, 
There  surely  the  mosses  lie  sparkling  below ; 
And  thus  they  both  flourish,  where  naught  grew  before, 
And  they  both  deck  the  woodland,  and  mountain,  and  moor. 

Eliza  Cook. 


LESSOTsT  XXY. — lichens,     (thallogens.) 


1.  Cetiunu/'ce  »yvo/-ti.s'«i,  Ventriciwc  lichen,  xxi.  8,  woods,  2  in.  2.  Ccriomy'ce  aelicx'tn. 
Delicate  liclien,  mealy  patch,  xxi.  8,  on  rotten  rails,  \  in.  (a.  enlarged).  'S.  Cenomv'cr 
ranrjiferi'ivi^  Reindeer  lichen,  xxi.  8,  woods?,  2  in.  4.  Licide'a  lii'rida,  l.urid  lichen,  xxi. 
8,  rocky  highlands*,  3  in.  {b.  enlarged).  5.  Cali'cium  chrv/soceph'nbnn,  ^'ellow-head  lichen, 
xxi.  8,  lem.  col.,  3  in.  (c.  enlarged).  6.  Lccano'ra  oculn'ta,  Mottled  lichen,  xxi.  8,  rocku 
and  earth,  w.,  2  in.  (tf.  enlarged).  7.  Cnli'cium  capitella'lum^  Sulphur  lichen,  xxL  8,  gr. 
and  y,,  i  in.,  sandy  soil  (b.  enlarged).  8.  Jiocel'la  tincto'ria.  Dyer's  lichen  (yields  a  fine 
purple  color),  xxi.  8,  y.  and  br.,  li  in.  9.  Cetra'ria  Islan'dica^  Iceland  moea  (uaed  in  med- 
icine), xxi.  8,  ol.  br.,  2  in. 

1.  At  the  head  of  the  second  division  of  the  cr}^t<)gamia 
are  the  Ijiche?is,^  a  race  of  tiny^  plants,  very  common,  and  yet 
but  little  known  to  the  world,  though  possessed  of  a  beauty 
by  no  means  inferior  to  that  of  gorgeous  flowers  or  lofty  trees. 
Man  i.sbut  too  apt  to  admire  the  boundless  wealth  and  beauty 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,   OR    BOTANY.  20;i 

of  our  great  mother,  Nature,  only  where  gigantic  proportions 
arrest  his  attention,  or  when  the  storm  of  enraged  elements 
makes  him  aware  of  his  own  insignificance. 

2.  Surely  his  head  was  not  set  on  high  that  he  might  de- 
spise low  things !  But,  to  see  the  beauties  with  which  every 
comer  and  crevice  is  decked,  to  read  the  lessons  conveyed  in 
Nature's  subtlest  works,  something  more  than  the  eye  is  re- 
quired. We  must  be  willing  and  able  to  listen  to  every  beetle's 
lowly  hum,  to  greet  every  flower  by  the  wayside  as  it  looks 
up  to  us  and  to  heaven,  and  to  question  every  stone,  every 
pebble.  If  we  thus  look  uj^on  the  tiny  lichens  around  us,  we 
may  here  also  soon  learn  that,  even  in  the  smallest  propor- 
tions, 

"  Not  a  beauty  blows, 
And  not  an  opening  blossom  breathes  in  vain." 

3.  Lichens,  of  which  more  than  tw^o  thousand  species  have 
been  described  by  botanists,  assume  a  great  variety  of  forms, 
and  vary  from  a  mere  speck  and  shriveled  leaf  to  a  branching- 
leafless  plant  a  foot  or  more  in  height.  In  their  most  com- 
mon forms,  in  which  they  are  generally  known  as  rock  moss 
or  tree  moss,  they  are  fleshy  or  leather-like  substances  growing 
on  rocks,  trees,  and  old  buildings,  forming  broad  patches  of 
various  colors,  some  being  of  a  bluish  gray,  and  others  of  the 
richest  golden  yellow ;  some  spread  upon  the  ground — and 
these  have  usually  a  much  larger  growth ;  some,  again,  hang 
from  the  branches  of  venerable  trees,  which  they  clothe  with 
a  shaggy  beard  of  gray ;  and  others  shoot  up  from  the  barren 
heath,  gray  and  deformed,  but  eventually  fashioning  them- 
selves into  tiny  goblets,  the  borders  of  which  are  studded  with 
crimson  shields. 

4.  Perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of  all,  as  well  as  the  most 
common,  are  the  wall  lichens,  some  of  which  spread  out  like 

wrinkled  leaflets,  while  other  va- 
rieties assume  a  beautiful  circu- 
lar form,  resembling  in  outline 
and  shape  the  fairest  rose ;  and 
of  these  it  has  been  said,  with 
quaint  but  truthful  words, 

"Careless  of  thy  neighborhood, 
Thou  dost  show  thy  pleasant  face 
On  the  moor  and  in  the  wood, 
In  the  lane — there  is  no  place, 
Howsoever  mean  it  be. 
But  'tis  good  enough  for  thee." 

And,  in  reality,  there  are  but  few 
surfaces  long  exposed  to  winr] 


204  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  IV. 

and  weather  which  are  not  soon  protected  by  the  warm 
cover  of  these  lichens.  Our  roofs  and  our  fences,  the  trunk 
of  a  tree,  and  the  rock  in  the  moors,  the  earth-capped  dike, 
and  the  sterile  sea-bank — in  fact,  all  places  but  sparingly  sup- 
plied with  moisture,  but  freely  exposed  to  air  and  light,  are 
clad  in  ever-varying  colors  by  these  beautiful  children  of  Na- 
ture. The  far-famed  Cathedral  of  Munster  may  be  truly  said 
to  be  gilded  by  these  tiny  lichens. 

5.  Hardy  plants  and  long-lived  are  they.  Many  of  them 
love  to  live  upon  a  soil  little  adapted  to  retain  moisture ;  and 
of  thdse  it  has  been  said  that,  "  Like  the  lazaroni^  of  Naples, 
they  will  not  work  even  to  live.  Carelessly  and  listlessly 
they  lie  in  the  bright  sunshine,  and  implore  with  Stoic  pa- 
tience, by  their  miserable  appearance,  the  pity  of  passing 
clouds.  In  these  times  of  want  and  drought*  they  shrink 
and  shrivel  until  nothing  seems  farther  from  them  than 
life.  Pale  and  rigid,  they  are  the  very  images  of  deso- 
lation, and  crumble  under  the  hand  into  impalpable  dust. 
Yet  no  sooner  has  an  early  dew  or  a  soft  rain — nay,  even  a 
faint  mist — merely  touched  their  unsightly  forms,  than  they 
begin  drinking  in  moisture  with  amusing  avidity,  and,  lo  and 
behold,  ere  many  minutes  are  passed,  they  expand  and  in- 
crease, until,  as  if  touched  by  a  magic  wand,  they  have  recov- 
ered their  fresh,  joyful  color  and  youthful  vigor." 

6.  In  extent  of  geographical  distribution  they  exceed  even 
the  mosses ;  and  they  are  met  with,  in  one  place  or  other, 
from  the  equator  to  the  poles,  and  from  the  sea-shore  to  the 
summits  of  lofty  mountains.  Humboldt  discovered  a  species 
of  this  plant  at  a  height  of  more  than  eighteen  thousand  feet, 
"  the  last  child  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  at  that  unsurpassed 
elevation,  close  to  the  top  of  Chimborazo ;"  and  large  num- 
bers of  small  but  vigorous  lichens  are  known  to  spread  over 
the  Alps,  even  close  to  the  eternal  snows  of  Moimt  Blanc. 

Rocks  Hublime 
To  human  art  a  sportive  semblnnce  bore, 
And  yellow  liehena  covered  all  the  clime, 
Like  moonlit  buttlemonts,  and  towera  decayed  by  time.— Caupbeu.. 

7.  Another  writer  has  beautifully  described  these  hardy 
plants  as  crowning  the  heights  of  Snowdon,  above  the  region 
of  clouds  and  stonns. 

Where  frowning  Snowdon  bends  his  dizzy  brow 
O'er  Conway,  listeninp  to  the  siirge  below, 
Hetiring  Lichen  climbs  the  topmost  stone. 
And  drinks  the  aerial  solitude  alone  : 
Briglit  shine  tlie  stars,  unnumbered,  d'gr  her  Jieatf., 
And  the  cold  n)Oonbeam  gilds  her  flinty  bod  ; 


2d  DiV.  OP  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY.  205 

While  round  the  rifted  rocks  hoarse  whirlwinds  breathe. 
And  dark  with  thunder  sail  the  clouds  beneath. — Dakwin. 

8.  But  lichens  are  far  from  being  idle  intruders  upon  the 
domains  of  solitude,  or  mere  ornaments  woven  into  the  bright 
carpet  that  covers  our  earth.  From  them  many  articles  of 
food,  even  for  man,  and  bright  dyes,  are  obtained :  the  Iceland 
moss,  a  species  of  lichen,  is  now  much  used  in  medicine,  espe- 
cially in  pulmonary  affections ;  humbler  animals  subsist  upon 
these  plants ;  and  the  well-known  reindeer  moss  sustains  for 
months  the  life  of  a  whole  race  of  noble  animals,  without 
whom  a  large  portion  of  our  globe  would  be  but  a  desert,  un- 
fit for  the  abode  of  man.  This  may  here  be  referred  to  as 
one  of  the  many  examples  that  might  be  cited  of  that  beau- 
tiful adaptation  which  prevails  throughout  all  animated  na- 
ture. 

9.  Reindeer' !  not  in  fields  like  ours, 
Full  of  grass  and  bright  with  flowers. 
Hast  thou  dwelling' ;  nor  dost  thou 

Feed  upon  the  orange-bough\  • 

'When  thou  wast  at  first  designed 

By  the  great  Creative  mind', 

Thou  for  frozen  lands  wast  meant\ 

Ere  the  winter's  frost  was  sent^ ; 

And  in  love  He  sent  thee  farth 

To  thy  home,  the  frozen  north. 

Where  he  bdde  the  rocks  produce 

Bitter  lichens  for  thy  use.— M.ab.y  Howitt. 

10.  All  lichens  are  amply  endowed  with  starch;  and  with 
this  not  only  most  of  the  cells  are  filled,  but  even  the  walls 
themselves  are  mainly  composed  of  it.  A  leathern-like  lichen 
grows  largely  in  the  limestone  mountains  of  Northern  Asia, 
and  serves,  in  times  of  famine  at  least,  as  food  for  the  roving 
Tartars.  In  the  polar  regions  of  Europe  similar  lichens  are 
carefully  soaked  and  boiled  down  to  free  them  of  their  orig- 
inal bitterness,  and  then  cooked  with  milk,  or  baked  into 
bread.  Scanty  lichens  of  this  kind,  which  had  to  be  dug  out 
from  under  sheltering  loads  of  snow,  were,  not  for  days,  but 
for  whole  months,  the  sole  food  of  the  unfortunate  navigator 
Franklin  and  his  companions. 

1  LT'-€HEN  (usually  pronounced  ll'-kSn).       I*  Dhouqht  {droiot)^  the  same  meaning  ps 

2  TI'-NY  or  Tin'-y.  drouth. 

3  Laz-a-bO'-ni,  a  class  of  beggars  and  idlers.  | 


206 


willson's  fifth  eeadeb. 


Pabt  IV. 


LES.  XXVI. — FUNGI,  OR  PUNGOUS  PLANTS.      (tHALLOGENS.) 


1.  Aga'ricUH  jyro'cerus^  Giant  ag'aric,  xxi.  '.),  w.  and  br.,  <>  in  .  t.  Aga'ricus 

pru'nulus^  French  mushroom,  xxi.  9,  white,  1^  in.,  Avoodt*.  3.  Agu'ricn^  biilbo'sri&i  Rad- 
ish-scented mushroom,  xxi.  9,  br.,  4  in.,  among  grass.  4.  Aga'ricufi  squarro'stis^  Squar- 
rose  ag'aric,  xxi.  9,  rusty-iron  color,  2  in.,  roots  of  trees.  5.  Aga'ricus  fiav'idus^  Yellow 
ag'aric  (eatable),  xxi.  9,  pale  yellow,  2  in.,  trunks  of  trees.  6.  Aga'ricits  te'ner.  Brittle 
gal'era,  xxi.  9,  y.  and  br.,  4  in.,  graspy  places.  7.  Aga'ricus  cainpes'tris^  Common  mush- 
room, xxi.  9,  whitish,  pink  below,  3  in.,  cultivated  in  gardens.  8.  Polupo'rti/i  ginante'u^^ 
Beech-tree  toadstool,  xxi.  9,  pale  brown,  20  in.,  on  beech-trees.  9.  Tii'ber  ciba'rittm^  Com- 
mon truffle,  xxi.  9,  brown,  \\  in.,  under  ground.  10.  Phal'hm  cmii'nns,  Scentless  morel, 
xxi.  9,  pk  ,  4  in.     11.  Asco'phora  muce'do^  a  common  mould,  xxi.  9,  i  in. 

1.  Under  the  name  Fangi^  botanists  comprehend  not  only 
the  various  races  of  mushrooms,  toad-stools,  and  similar  pro- 
ductions, but  a  large  number  of  microscopic  plants  forming 
the  appearances  called  mouldiness,  mildew,  smut,  rust  on  the 
straw  of  grains,  dry  rot  in  wood,  and  blight  in  corn.  Many 
of  them  are  mischievous  parasitical^  plants,  found  wherever 
there  is  decaying  vegetation  ;  and  they  sometimes  grow  upon 
animals,  and  even  upon  the  hand  and  in  the  lungs  of  man. 

2.  They  often  spring  up  and  develop  with  remarkable  ra- 
pidity ;  and  it  has  been  said  that  fungous*  vegetation  lias  been 
found  on  iron  which  but  a  few  hours  before  had  been  red  hot 
in  the  forge.  Their  mode  of  fructification  is  doubtless  simi- 
lar to  that  already  described  for  ferns  and  other  cryptogamia, 
except  that  the  whole  plant  is  a  mass  of  reproductive  matter; 
and  so  minute  are  the  rrorms  or  seeds  of  parasitic  fungi  as  to 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR    BOTANY.  207 

defy  the  power  of  the  microscope ;  and  hence  it  is  thought 
that  they  circulate  in  the  sap  of  vegetables  and  in  the  blood 
of  animals.  When  dried  masses  of  them  are  set  free  they 
resemble  thin  smoke,  as  in  the  powder  of  puff-balls ;  and  so 
light  are  they  that  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  a  place  from  which 
they  can  be  excluded. 

3.  The  variety  of  forms  and  tints  of  this  curious  family  of 
plants  is  most  numerous.  Some  of  them,  called  the  holeti^ 
exhibit,  when  broken,  a  remarkable  change  of  color,  the  white 
or  yellowish  tint  becoming  instantly  of  a  vivid  blue.  Some 
are  nearly  fluid,  while  others  are  like  paper,  leather,  or  cork. 
There  is  a  kind  which  vegetates  in  dark  mines  far  from  the 
light  of  day,  and  which  is  remarkable  for  its  phosphorescent 
properties.  In  the  coal-mines  near  Dresden  these  plants  are 
described  as  giving  those  places  the  air  of  an  enchanted  castle : 
the  roof,  walls,  and  pillars  are  entirely  covered  with  the*m, 
and  their  beautiful  light  is  almost  dazzling  to  the  eye. 

4.  In  size,  too,  the  fungi  vary  from  minute  specks  to  masses 
several  feet  in  circumference.  The  most  wonderful  thing 
about  mushrooms  is  the  rapidity  of  their  growth  and  of  their 
propagation.  Puff-balls  have  grown  six  inches  in  diameter 
in  a  single  night.  Notwithstanding  the  soft  and  cellular 
structure  of  the  plant,  they  have  grown  in  glass  vessels  until 
they  have  broken  them ;  and  even  heavy  stones  have  been 
raised  by  numerous  fungi  growing  under  them. 

5.  Unlike  other  plants,  y^«/^(7^  absorb  oxygen  from  the  air, 
and  exhale  carbonic  acid.  Many  mushrooms  are  very  poison- 
ous, while  others  are  esteemed  valuable  as  articles  of  food. 
A  curious  fungous  plant,  called  the  truffle^  grows  entirely  un- 
der ground.  It  is  highly  esteemed  in  Europe  as  an  article 
of  food,  but  it  has  never  been  successfully  cultivated.  It 
grows  in  Virginia  and  North  Carohna,  where  it  is  known  as 
Indian  bread  or  Indian  loaf,  but  more  generally  by  the  name 
of  Tuckahoe.  Tuckahoe,  when  fresh,  has  an  acrid  taste,  but 
becomes  edible^  when  dry.  Tinder  or  spunk  is  a  kind  of 
mushroom  of  the  genus  Agaric.'^  Various  kinds  of  fungi, 
besides  our  common  puff-ball,  have  been  used  to  stop  bleed- 
ing, and  also  for  many  medicinal  purposes.  The  poet  Delllle 
has  told  us  in  verse  of 

"  Tlie  potent  agaric^*  to  wounds  applied, 
^  That  stops  the  gushing  of  the  sanguine  tide ; 

'  Whose  spongy  substance  to  its  bosom  takes 

The  crackling  spark,  as  from  the  flint  it  breaks." 

6.  A  fungus  of  remarkable  intoxicating  properties,  similar 
in  appearance  to  our  mushroom,  grows  in  Siberia.     After  eat- 


208 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH    READER. 


Part  IV. 


ing  freely  of  it,  cheerfulness  is  first  produced,  then  the  face 
becomes  flushed,  and  giddiness  and  drunkenness  follow  in  the 
same  way  as  from  the  use  of  alcoholic  drinks.  In  some  it 
provokes  to  unusual  activity,  and  stimulates  to  bodily  exer- 
tion. When  taken  in  large  doses  it  produces  violent  spasms. 
So  very  exciting  to  the  nervous  system  in  many  individuals 
is  this  fungus,  that  the  effects  are  often  very  ludicrous.  A 
talkative  person  can  not  keep  silence,  and  one  fond  of  music 
is  perpetually  singing ;  and  if  a  person  under  its  influence 
wishes  to  step  over  a  straw,  he  will  make  a  jump  sufficient  to 
clear  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 

"  O  that  men  should  put  an  enemy  in  their  mouths  to  steal 
away  their  brains." 


1  Fun'-gT,  the  plural   of  Fun'-gus  {fiing'- 

gu8). 
a  Pae-a-8Tt'-i€-al,  pertaining  to  a  plant 

that  grows  and  lives  on  another. 


3  ftn'-i-BLE,  eatable ;  good  for  food. 
*  Ag'-a-bic,  a  genua  of  fungi. 


LESSON    XXVII. ALG^,   OR  SEA-WEEDS.       (tHALLOGENS.) 


1.  Fu'euaim'tam,  orvesiculo'euB,  Bladdery  fncus,  xxi.  7,  ol.  gr.,  'J4  f.,  floating  masses, 
ocean,  3.  Fu'cus  cnnalicula'tus^  Channeled  fiicus,  xxi.  7,  y.  and  ol.,  6  f.,  ocean.  (The 
ashes  of  the  fucus  produce  the  kdp  or  potash  of  commerco.)  U.  Sporoch'nm  imhincitla'- 
tUK,  xxi.  7,  It.  gr.,  6  f .  :  a  portion  ningnified.  4.  Chon'dria  pinnitiji'da,  lVi)per  dulse 
(this  is  eaten  in  Scotland),  xxi.  7,  purplish,  6  f.  5.  Lamitm'ria  coculen'ta,  Soa  tangle 
(eatable),  xxi.  7,  br.,  60  f.  6.  C<n\fer'va  ijlomera'ta,  (Clustered  confors-a,  xxi.  7,  ht.  gr., 
1  f.  :  a  fliament  magnified.  7.  Clndonte'phuA  ttponeiio'siis,  Spongy  conferva,  xxi.  7,  gr., 
3  f.  :  a  portion  mngnlfted.  8.  A  hmnid'ium  diaph'dnum  (a  fleshy  mass),  xxi.  7,  y.,  6  f.  9; 
J'lrhmd'la  artictila'ta^  Floating  film :  magnified.   The  »mall  stars  show  the  nnt nrnl  size :  gr. 


2d  DiV.  OP  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,   OR   BOTANY.  209 

How  various  the  shades  of  marine  vegetation, 
Thrown  here  the  rough  flints  and  sea-pebbles  among ! 

The  feathered  conferva  of  deepest  carnation, 
The  dark  purple  sloke,  and  the  olive  sea-thong. — Chaelotte  Smith. 

1.  Under  the  division  of  Algoe,^  or  Sea-weeds,  botanists 
have  included  a  great  number  of  flowerless  plants,  inhabiting 
both  salt  and  fresh  water,  but  chiefly  the  former.  Though 
simple  in  structure,  and  but  little  known  to  the  world  gener- 
ally, they  number  several  thousand  species,  and  embrace  a 
great  variety  in  size,  form,  and  extent  of  development,  from 
mere  microscopic  cells  floating  on  the  surface  of  water,  to  vast 
submarine  forests  of  the  most  luxuriant  vegetation.  In  their 
lowest  forms  some  of  these  cellular  plants  approach  so  nearly 
the  boundary  between  vegetable  and  animal  life,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  tell  where  the  one  ends  and  the  other  begins. 

2.  Most  persons  have  doubtless  noticed  a  green  mucous^ 
substance  that  collects  on  the  surface  of  stones  constantly 
moistened  by  water.  This  constitutes  some  of  the  lowest 
forms  of  algal  vegetation,  consisting  of  little  more  than  mi- 
nute vegetable  cells.  Such  sometimes  spread  over  the  ocean 
for  miles  in  extent,  giving  to  it  their  own  peculiar  color.  The 
Red  Sea  has  derived  its  name  from  a  minute  fungous  plant 
which  sometimes  covers  its  waters,  as  with  a  thin  layer  of  fine 
red  dust,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach. 

3.  But  go  to  the  N6rth  Sea,  and  a  great  advance  in  this 
kind  of  vegetable  structure  may  be  found.  There  may  be 
seen  a  thread-like  species^  of  sea-weed,  thirty  or  forty  feet  in 
length,  not  larger  than  a  pipe-stem,  attached  at  one  end  to 
the  bottom  or  shore,  and  the  rest  supported  by  the  water ; 
and  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Orkneys  it  forms  meadows 
through  which  a  boat  forces  its  way  with  difliculty.  But 
even  this  is  nothing  as  compared  with  the  prodigious  extent 
of  another  thread-like  species,'^  which  is  reported  to  be  more 
than  a  thousand  feet  in  length ;  while  still  another  kind,  in 
tropical  seas,  attains  a  length  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet, 
with  a  trunk  thicker  than  a  man's  arm. 

4.  Although  most  sea-weeds  attach  themselves  to  rocks  or 
other  solid  masses,  frequenting  the  shores  or  shallows  rather 
than  the  open  sea,  there  are  some  exceptions,  among  which 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  is  the  Sargasso  or  Gulf  Weed, 
which  floats  on  the  surface  of  the  ocean.  "  Midway  in  the 
Atlantic  Ocean,"  says  Commander  Maury,  "  is  the  Sargasso 
Sea,  covering  an  area  equal  in  extent  to  the  Mississippi  Valley, 
and  so  thickly  matted  over  with  Gulf  weed  that  the  speed 
of  vessels  passing  through  it  is  much  retarded.     When  the 


210  WILLSON's  fifth   reader.  Part  IV. 

companions  of  Columbus  saw  it,  they  thought  it  marked  the 
limits  of  navigation,  and  became  alarmed.  To  the  eye  at  a 
little  distance  it  seems  substantial  enough  to  walk  upon. 
Columbus  first  found  this  weedy  sea  in  his  voyage  of  dis- 
covery ;  and  it  has  remained  to  this  day,  moving  up  and  down, 
and  changing  its  position  according  to  the  seasons,  the  storms, 
and  the  winds." 

5.  But,  in  addition  to  this  "  weedy  sea,"  the  ocean  every 
where  bears  on  its  bosom  sea-weeds  torn  from  the  rocks  by 
the  ever  "  toiling  surges,"  and  driven  hither  and  thither  by 
the  winds  and  waves.  Yet  even  these,  although  among  the 
lowest  forms  of  vegetable  life,  have  not  been  found  an  unfit- 
ting theme  for  the  poet,  as  the  following  lines  will  show : 

6.  When  descends  on  the  AUantic 

The  gigantic 
Storm-wind  of  the  equinox, 
Landward  in  his  wi'ath  he  scourges 

The  toiling  surges, 
Laden  with  sea-weed  from  the  rocks ; 

7.  From  Bermuda's  reefs;  from  edgea 

Of  Hunken  ledges 
Of  some  far  off,  bright  Azore ; 
From  Bahama,  and  the  dashing, 

Silver-flashing 
Surges  of  San  Salvador ; 

8.  Ever  drifting,  drifting,  drifting. 

On  the  shifting 
Currents  of  the  restless  main, 
Till  in  sheltered  coves,  and  reaches 

Of  sandy  beaches. 
All  have  found  repose  again. 

9.  So  when  storms  of  wild  emotion 

Strike  the  ocean 
Of  the  poet's  soul,  ere  long, 
From  each  cave  and  rocky  faatnees. 

In  its  vastness. 
Floats  some  fragment  of  a  song ; 

10.  Ever  drifting,  drifting,  drifting, 

On  the  aliifting 
Currents  of  the  restless  heart, 
Till  at  length,  in  books  recorded. 

They,  like  hoarded 
Household  words,  no  more  depart. — Longfellow. 

11.  Of  all  tribes  of  plants  the  Algie  are  commonly  reputed 
the  least  useful.  Yet  neither  in  regard  to  the  general  econo- 
my of  nature,  nor  as  to  the  wants  of  man,  are  they  to  be  so 
considered.  They  supply  food  to.  a  large  number  of  marine 
animals,  which  browse  upon  them  as  those  inhabiting  the  land 
do  upon  its  most  luxuriant  pastures.  Cattle  have  been  very 
profitably  fed  on  some  species  abundant  on  northern  coasts, 
and  have  even  become  so  fond  of  this  diet  as  greedily  to  seek 
for  it.  Many  kinds  furnish  a  wholesome  and  palatable  food 
for  man,  and  are  used  for  this  purpose  by  the  poorer  classc. 


2d  DiV.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  OR   BOTANY. 


211 


along  the  shores  of  the  North  of  Europe,  while  others  are 
reckoDed  a  luxury  by  the  rich.  The  ashes  of  sea-weeds  have 
been  in  great  demand  for  the  soda  they  contain,  which  is  used 
in  the  manufacture  of  hard  soap.  Iodine,  so  useful  as  a  medi- 
cine, being  the  only  known  cure  for  scrofula,  and  indispensa- 
ble in  taking  daguerreotype  or  photographic  pictures,  is  found 
in  the  kind  csiWed  fiicus,^  or  sea-wort. 

12.  The  sea-wort  floating  on  the  waves,  or  rolled  up  high  alohg  the  shore. 
Ye  counted  useless  and  vile,  heaping  on  it  names  of  contempt : 

Yet  hath  it  gloriously  triumphed,  and  man  been  humbled  in  his  ignorance, 

For  health  is  in  the  freshness  of  its  savor,  and  it  cumbereth  the  beach  with  wealth ; 

Comforting  the  tossings  of  pain  with  its  violet-tinctured  essence. 

And  by  its  humbler  ashes  enriching  many  proud. 

And  herein,  as  thou  walkest  by  the  sea,  shall  weeds  be  a  type  and  an  earnest 

Of  the  stored  and  uncounted  riches  lying  hid  in  all  creatures  of  God. 

Maetin  Faequhab  Tupper. 

13.  Algae  are  mostly  of  an  olive-green,  gray,  or  red  color ; 
and  their  little  capsules  or  air-chambers  often  have  the  ap- 
pearance of  berries.  Corals  are  sometimes  found  attached  to 
them.  It  is  an  easy  task  for  those  who  live  near  the  sea- 
shore, especially  in  the  New  England  States,  to  make  beauti- 
ful collections  of  these  "  flowers  of  the  ocean."  Although 
they  at  first  appear  like  little  uninviting  bits  of  red  scum, 
they  may  often  be  spread  out,  by  floating  them  in  a  basin  of 
water,  so  as  to  show  the  expansion  of  the  plant.  A  piece  of 
paper  may  then  be  inserted  under  them,  and  when  the  plants 
have  been  carefully  lifted  up  by  it,  dried,  and  pressed,  they  will 
present  something  like  the  annexed  representation.  These 
are  accurate  copies,  of  full  size,  of  specimens  of  a  beautiful  red 
color,  which  were  obtained  at  Nahant,  near  Boston. 

14-  A  weary  weed,  tossed  to  and  fro, 

Drearily  drenched  in  the  ocean  brine. 
Soaring  high  and  sinking  low, 

Lashed  along  without  will  of  mine ; 
Sport  of  the  spoom^  of  the  surging  sea. 

Flung  on  the  foam  afar  and  near, 
Mark  my  manifold  mystery. 

Growth  and  gi'ace  in  their  place  appear. 

15.  I  bear  round  berries,  gray  and  red. 
Rootless  and  rover  though  I  be. 
My  spangled  leaves,  when  nicely  spread, 

Arboresce  as  a  trunkless  tree ; 
Corals  curious  coat  me  o'er. 

White  and  hard  in  apt  array  ; 
Mid  the  wild  waves'  rude  uproar. 
Gracefully  grow  I  night  and  day. 

C.  G.  Fenneb. 


1  Al'-ga,  a  sea-weed  ;  plural  AV -gee. 

2  Mu'-€Ou8,  slimy ;  viscous. 

3  The  Chorda  filum. 


*  The  Macrocystis  pyrifera. 

5  This  is  the  Fucus  natans. 

6  Spoom,  foam ;  probably  from  spume. 


212 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Part  IV. 


1.  Cy'eas  revolu'ta^  a  Cycad,  a  plant  intermediate  in  form  between  palms  and  ferns :  it 
is  cultivated  in  the  E.  Indies  for  its  fruit,  and  also  for  the  sago  which  is  obtained  from  the 
pith.  2.  Aphelan'dra  crista' ta^  an  Acanthad.  3.  JEch'inea  ful'fjens^  a  plant  of  the  samo 
family  as  the  Tine-apple.  4.  Littce'a  geminiflo'ra^  or  liiionapar'tea  jun'cea^  an  Amaryl- 
lid.    5.  Loa'sa  pentUtnd'ica^  a  handsome  annual,  with  yellow  flowers. 

1.  By  domestic  flower-culture  we  mean  the  endeavor  to 
grow  rare  and  ornamental  varieties  of  flowering  and  other 
plants  in  every  available  situation  connected  with  our  dwell- 
ings. Be  it  window-recess,  balcony,  staircase,  porch,  or  tiny 
front  plot,  it  matters  not,  provided  there  be  sufiicient  expo- 
sure to  light  and  sunshine.  Some  such  place  is  at  the  disposal 
of  almost  every  one  who  enjoys  the  shelter  of  a  roof,  whether 
he  is  an  inhabitant  of  the  open  country  or  the  crowded  city, 
the  tenant  of  a  single  apartment,  or  the  proprietor  of  a  lordly 
mansion.  The  culture  thus  alluded  to  forms  one  of  the  most 
delightful  recreations  in  which  the  enlightened  mind  can  en- 
gage ;  it  is  innocent  and  cheerful ;  can  be  cheaply  obtained ; 
and,  like  other  rational  pastimes,  may  lead  to  pursuits  of  a 
more  profitable  nature. 

2.  The  beauty  and  variety  of  flowers,  the  fragrance  and 
freshness  which  we  are  insensibly  led  to  associate  with  them, 
have  long  been  themes  for  the  poet  and  naturalist,  but,  really 
not  more  so  than  the  subject  deserves.    The  endless  forms 


2d  Diy.  OF  .  .  VEGETABLE   PHYSIOLOGY,  UK   BOTAISY.  213 

in  which  plants  appear,  their  adaptations  to  certain  situations, 
the  pecuUar  properties  which  many  species  possess,  though 
all  grow  on  the  same  soil,  the  wonderful  metamorphoses 
which  they  undergo  from  seed  to  plant,  and  from  plant  and 
flower  to  seed  again,  not  to  speak  of  the  amenity^  and  beauty 
with  which  they  invest  the  landscape,  or  of  the  utility  they 
confer  as  articles  of  food,  medicine,  and  clothing,  are  all  sub- 
jects of  never-failing  interest  to  a  reflective  mind. 

3.  But  every  one  has  not  the  opportunity  of  enjoying  this 
contemplation  in  the  field ;  and  even  if  he  had,  the  produce 
of  one  climate  differs  so  widely  from  that  of  another,  that  his 
own  district  would  furnish  him  with  a  mere  fraction  of  the 
numerous  vegetable  families.  Knowledge,  however,  has  over- 
come this  difficulty ;  for,  by  the  aid  of  the  sheltered  garden, 
the  conservatory,  and  hot-house,  the  genera  of  any  country  can 
be  brought  within  the  compass  of  a  few  superficial  acres. 
What  can  be  thus  accomplished  by  the  scientific  gardener 
may  be  imitated  on  a  small  scale  by  domestic  culture,  and 
with  comparatively  less  expense,  as  our  apartments  yield  that 
shelter  and  temperature  which  it  costs  the  gardener  so  much 
to  obtain. 

4.  The  individual  therefore  who  can  rear  in  his  window-re- 
cess, in  his  lobby,  or  around  his  porch,  the  shrubs  and  flowers 
of  other  lands,  has  always  a  subject  of  contemplation  before 
him ;  something  to  engage  fhe  attention,  and  to  preserve  the 
mind  from  the  listlessness  of  ennui,^  or  from  positively  perni- 
cious pursuits.  Any  member  of  a  family  who  has  a  little  stand 
of  plants  to  water,  to  clean,  and  prune,  has  always  a  pleasant 
daily  recreation  before  him ;  his  love  and  care  increase  with 
these  objects;  the  simple  duty  becomes  necessary  to  his  ex- 
istence, and  he  has  what  so  many  are  miserable  for  the  want 
of,  something  to  occupy  hours  of  listlessness  or  Jieisure.^ 

5.  Again,  plants  are  objects  of  beauty  and  ornament.  Why 
is  yonder  lowly  cottage  more  lovely  and  inviting  than  the 
large  farm-house  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  ?  Simply  be- 
cause its  walls  are  trellised*  with  the  rose  and  honeysuckle, 
and  its  porch  with  the  clambering  hop,  whose  dark  green  con- 
trasts so  finely  with  the  whitewashed  front ;  while  the  latter 
is  as  cold  and  uninviting  as  bare  stone  walls  can  make  it.  So 
it  is  with  any  apartment,  however  humble.  The  little  stand 
of  flowers  in  the  window-recess,  with  their  green  leaves  and 
brilliant  blossoms,  adds  a  charm  and  freshness  to  the  place ; 
and  we  will  answer  for  it,  that  wherever  these  are,  the  furni- 
ture, though  mean,  will  be  clean  and  neatly  arranged. 


214 


WILLSON  S   FIFTH    KEADEB. 


Pakt  IV. 


6.  The  individual  who  prides  himself  on  the  favorite  plants 
that  blossom  on  his  window-sill,  will  see  that  that  window  be 
in  such  order  as  shall  show  them  off  to  advantage ;  and  the 
taste  that  leads  to  the  establishment  of  neatness  in  one  corner, 
will  not  be  long  in  spreading  to  the  most  secret  nook  of  the 
apartment.  Moreover,  the  individual  who  cherishes  his  little 
array  of  flowers  in  his  window  will  often  repair  to  the  hills 
and  river  sides  in  search  of  new  favorites  ;  he  will  insensibly 
acquire  a  love  for  nature,  and  find  his  enjoyment  in  studying 
her  mysteries  and  admiring  her  beauties,  whether  in  garden, 
field,  or.  forest,  instead  of  spending  his  time  in  the  haunts  of 
idleness  and  dissipation. 

7.  The  in-door  cultivation  of  plants  is  also  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  sanitary^  condition  of  our  dwellings.  The 
oxygen  of  the  atmosphere  is  indispensable  to  the  respiration 
of  animals ;  it  purifies  their  blood,  and  affords  them  internal 
heat ;  and,  united  with  certain  elements,  it  is  expired  in  the 
form  of  carbonic  acid  gas,  a  compound  of  oxygen  and  carbon." 
This  gas,  which  is  deleterious  to  animal  life,  constitutes  the 
main  nourishment  of  plants,  which  absorb  it,  appropriate  its 
carbon,  and  restore  its  oxygen  to  the  atmosphere,  again  to  be 
breathed  in  purity  by  men  and  animals.'* 

8.  It  is  true  that  pure  air  is  necessary  alike  to  the  life  of 
plants  and  animals ;  but  the  amo,unt  of  oxygen  absorbed  by 
the  former  is  by  no  means  equal  to  ttiat  which  they  restore ; 
and  thus,  through  their  agency,  the  atmosphere  is  kept  in 
healthy  equilibrium.  It  was  long  thought  that  plants  absorb- 
ed carbonic  acid  during  the  day  only,  and  under  the  influence 
of  light,  and  that  it  was  given  off  by  them  during  the  night 
season,  thus  vitiating  the  air  in  apartments  in  which  they  were 
kept ;  but  this  is  now  believed  to  be  an  error.  It  is  confi- 
dently asserted  that  carbonic  acid  is  never  disengaged  by  them 
during  the  healthy  condition  of  the  leaf,  and  that  the  fluid 
which  they  so  abundantly  exhale  is  pure  water.  If  this  be  the 
case,  growing  plants  can  not,  under  any  con  i^ition,  impair  the 
purity  of  XhQ  atmosphere,  but  rather  the  reverse,  unless  the 
odor  which  they  emit  be  too  powerful  to  be  agreeable. 

Chambers'  Miscellany. 


1  A-MiN'-i-TY,  pleasantness. 

2  En-nu'i'  (fin-ioe\  French),  languor  arising 
from  lack  of  occupation. 

3  Lbi»'-ubb  (le'-zhur\  freedom  from  occupa- 
tion. 


♦  Trkt.'-libkd,  fumisheil  with  ..  trelllB  or 
wooden  frame. 

*  San'-i-ta-ry,  pertaining  to  or  designed  to 
secure  health. 


•  See  Lesson  XHI.,  p.  112 ;  also  Fourth  Reader,  pp.  SO,  5^-4. 
»•  See  p.  269;  also  Fourth  Reader,  p.  311. 


FOUETH  MISCELLAISTEOUS  DIYISIOK 


LESSON  I.— EVA. 

1.  A  COTTAGE  in  a  peaceful  vale ; 

A  jasmine  round  the  door; 
A  hill  to  shelter  from  the  gale ; 
A  silver  brook  before. 

2.  Oh,  sweet  the  jasmine's  buds  of  snow, 

In  mornings  soft  with  May ; 
Oh,  silver-clear  the  waves  that  flow. 
Reflecting  heaven,  away  ! 


216  willson's  fifth  readek. 

3.  A  sweeter  bloom  to  Eva's  youth 

Rejoicing  Nature  gave ; 
And  heaven  was  mirrored  in  her  truth 
More  clear  than  on  the  wave. 

4.  Oft  to  that  lone,  sequester'd  place 

My  boyish  steps  would  roam ; 

There  was  a  look  in  Eva's  face 

That  seem'd  a  smile  of  home. 

5.  And  oft  I  paused  to  hear  at  noon 

A  voice  that  s'ang  for  glee  ; 
Or  mark  the  white  neck  glancing  down, 
The  book  upon  the  knee. 

6.  Years  pass  :  the  same"  the  peaceful  vale, 

The  jasmine  round  the  door," 
The  hill  still  shelters  from  the  gale, 
The  brook  still  glides  before : 

7.  Still  sweet  the  jasmine's  buds  of  snow ; — 

But  'neath  the  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  silver-clear  the  waters  flow, 

Her  holy  dust  is  laid. — Bulweb  Lytton. 


LESSON   II. GIL  BLAS  AND  THE   ARCHBISHOP,  OR  THE   DAN- 
GER  OF    GIVING   ADVICE. 

Archbishop.  What  is  your  business  with  me\  my  friend'  ? 

Gil  Blas.^  I  am  the  young  man  who  was  recommended  to 
you  by  your  nephew,  Don  Fernando. 

Arch.  Oh !  you  are  the  person  of  whom  he  sjDoke  so  hand- 
somely. I  retain  you  in  my  service;  I  regard  you  as  an 
acquisition.  Your  education,  it  would  seem,  has  not  been 
neglected ;  you  know  enough  of  Greek  and  Latin  for  my  pur- 
pose, and  your  handwriting  suits  me.  I  am  obliged  to  ray 
nephew  for  sending  me  so  clever  a  young  fellow.  So  good 
a  copyist  must  be  also  a  grammarian.  Tell  me,  did  you  find 
nothing  in  the  sermon  you  transcribed  for  me  which  shocked 
your  taste?  no  little  negligence  of  style,  or  impropriety  of 
diction  ? 

Gil  B.  Oh,  sir !  I  am  not  qualified  to  play  the  critic ;  and 
if  I  were,  I  am  persuaded  that  your  grace's  compositions 
would  defy  censure. 

Arch.  Ahem !  well,  I  do  flatter  myself  that  not  many  flaws 
could  be  picked  in  them.  But,  my  young  friend,  tell  me  what 
passages  struck  you  most  forcibly. 

Gil  B.  If,  where  all  was  excellent,  any  passages  more  par- 
ticularly moved  me,  they  were  those  personifying  hope,  and 
describing  the  good  man's  death. 


FOUETH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  211 

Arch.  You  show  an  accurate  taste  and  delicate  apprecia- 
tion. I  see  your  judgment  may  be  relied  upon.  Give  your- 
self no  inquietude,  Gil  Blas,^  in  regard  to  your  advancement 
in  life.  I  will  take  care  of  that.  I  have  an  affection  for  you, 
and,  to  prove  it,  I  will  now  make  you  my  confidant.  Yes,  my 
young  friend,  I  will  make  you  the  depositary  of  my  most  se- 
cret thoughts.  Listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.  I  am  fond  of 
preaching,  and  my  sermons  are  not  without  effect  upon  my 
hearers.  The  conversions  of  which  I  am  the  humble  instru- 
ment ought  to  content  me.  But — shall  I  confess  my  weak- 
ness?— my  reputation  as  a  finished  orator  is  what  gratifies 
me  most.  My  productions  are  celebrated  as  at  once  vigorous 
and  elegant.  But  I  would,  of  all  things,  avoid  the  mistake  of 
those  authors  who  do  not  know  when  to  stop — I  would  pro- 
duce nothing  beneath  my  reputation ;  I  would  retire  season- 
ably, ere  that  is  impaired.  And  so,  my  dear  Gil  Bias,  one 
thing  I  exact  of  your  zeal,  which  is,  that  when  you  shall  find 
that  my  pen  begins  to  flag  and  to  give  signs  of  old  age  in  the 
owner,  you  shall  not  hesitate  to  apprise  me  of  the  fact.  Do 
not  be  afraid  that  I  shall  take  it  unkindly.  I  can  not  trust 
my  own  judgment  on  this  point ;  self-love  may  mislead  me.  A 
disinterested  understanding  is  what  I  require  for  my  guidance. 
I  make  choice  of  yours,  and  mean  to  abide  by  your  decision. 

Gil.  B.  Thank  Heaven,  sir,  the  period  is  likely  to  be  far 
distant  when  any  such  hint  shall  be  needed.  Besides,  a  gen- 
ius like  yours  will  wear  better  than  that  of  an  inferior  man ; 
or,  to  speak  more  justly,  your  faculties  are  above  the  encroach- 
ments of  age.  Instead  of  being  weakened,  they  promise  to 
be  invigorated  by  time. 

Arch.  No  flattery,  my  friend.  I  am  well  aw^re  that  I  am 
liable  to  give  way  at  any  time,  all  at  once.  At  my  age,  cer- 
tain infirmities  of  the  flesh  are  unavoidable,  and  they  must 
needs  affect  the  mental  powers.  I  repeat  it,  Gil  Bias,  so  soon 
as  you  shall  perceive  the  slightest  symptom  of  deterioration 
in  my  writings,  give  me  fair  warning.  Do  not  shrink  from 
being  perfectly  candid  and  sincere,  for  I  shall  receive  such  a 
monition  as  a  token  of  your  regard  for  me. 

Gil  B.  In  good  faith,  sir,  I  shall  endeavor  to  merit  your 
confidence. 

Arch.  Nay,  your  interests  are  bound  up  with  your  obedi- 
ence in  this  respect ;  for  if,  unfortunately  for  you,  I  should 
hear  in  the  city  a  whisper  of  a  falling-off  in  my  discourses — 
an  intimation  that  I  ought  to  stop  preaching — I  should  hold 
you  responsible,  and  considei*  myself  exempted  from  all  care 

K 


218  WILLSOn's   riPTH    BEADEK. 

for  your  fortunes.  Such  will  be  the  result  of  your  false  dis- 
cretion. 

Gil  B.  Indeed,  sir,  I  shall  be  vigilant  to  observe  your  wish- 
es, and  to  detect  any  blemish  in  your  writings. 

Arch.  And  now  tell  me,  Gil  Bias,  what  does  the  world  say 
of  my  last  discourse  ?    Think  you  it  gave  general  satisfaction  ? 

Gil  B.  Since  you  exact  it  of  me  in  so  j^ressing  a  manner 
to  be  frank — 

Arch.  Frank  ?  Oh,  certainly,  by  all  means ;  speak  out,  my 
young  friend. 

Gil  B.  Your  grace's  sermons  never  fail  to  be  admired ; 
but— 

Arch.  But — Well  ?    Do  not  be  afraid  to  let  me  know  all. 

Gil  B.  If  I  may  venture  the  observation,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  your  last  discourse  did  not  have  that  effect  upon  your 
audience  which  your  former  efforts  have  had.  Perhaps  your 
grace's  recent  illness — 

Arch.  What,  what !  Has  it  encountered,  then,  some  Aris- 
tarchus  ?2 

Gil  B.  No  sir,  no.  Such  productions  as  yours  are  beyond 
criticism.  Every  body  was  charmed  with  it ;  but — since  you 
have  demanded  it  of  me  to  be  frank  and  sincere — I  take  the 
liberty  to  remark  that  your  last  discourse  did  not  seem  to  me 
altogether  equal  to  your  preceding.  It  lacked  the  strength — 
the — Do  you  not  agree  with  me,  sir  ? 

Arch.  Mr.  Gil  Bias,  that  discourse,  then,  is  not  to  your 
taste  ? 

Gil  B.  I  did  not  say  that,  sir.  I  found  it  excellent — only 
a  little  inferior  to  your  others. 

Arch.  So!  Now  I  understand.  I  seem  to  you  to  be  on 
the  wane — eh  ?  Out  with  it !  You  think  it  about  time  that 
I  should  retire  ? 

Gil  B.  I  should  not  have  presumed,  sir,  to  speak  so  freely, 
but  for  your  express  commands.  I  have  simply  rendered  you 
obedience ;  and  I  humbly  trust  that  you  will  not  be  offended 
at  my  hardihood. 

Arch.  Offended  !  Oh !  not  at  all,  Mr.  Gil  Bias.  I  utter  no 
reproaches.  I  don't  take  it  at  all  ill  that  you  should  speak 
your  sentiments ;  it  is  your  sentiment  only  that  I  find  ill.  I 
have  been  duped  in  supj^osing  you  to  be  a  person  of  any  in- 
telligence— that  is  all. 

Gil  B.  But,  sir,  if,  in  my  zeal  to  serve  you,  I  have  erred 
in — 

Arch.  Say  no  more — say  no  more !     You  are  yet  too  raw 


rOUBTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  219 

to  discriminate.  Know  that  I  never  composed  a  better  ser- 
mon than  that  which  has  had  the  misfortune  to  lack  your  ap- 
probation. My  faculties,  thank  Heaven,  have  lost  nothing  of 
their  vigor.  Hereafter  I  will  make  a  better  choice  of  an  ad- 
viser. Go,  tell  my  treasurer  to  count  you  out  a  hundred  duc- 
ats, and  may  Heaven  conduct  you  with  that  sum.  Adieu, 
Mr.  Gil  Bias.  I  wish  you  all  manner  of  prosperity — with  a 
little  more  taste. — Dramatized  frotn  Le  Sage. 

1  Gil BLX8(Fre?ic^), pronounced  ZhilBlas,  ^  Ae-is-tae'-€hus,  a  celebrated  critic  of  an- 
the  g  being  sounded  like  z  in  azure.  The  tiquity,  whose  criticisms  were  so  severe  that 
concluding  s  is  sounded.  his  name  has  become  proverbial. 


LESSOI^  HI.— THE  bells. 

[This  is  a  difficult  piece,  which  professional  elocutionists  delight  to  read.  The  voice 
should  aim  to  imitate  the  tones  of  the  different  bells,  and  at  the  same  time  to  call  forth 
the  feelings  which  the  diflferent  occasions  of  their  use  suggest.] 

1.  Hear  the  sledges  with  the  bells ^ — 
a.  Silver'  bells^ — 

What  a  world  of  merriment  their  melody  foretells^  1 
How  they  tinkle,  tinkle,  .tinkle,- 
•        In  the  icy  air  of  night^ ! 

While  the  stars  that  oversi^rinkle 
All  the  heavens',  seem  to  twinkle 

With  a  crystalline  delight^ ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic^  rhyme, 
To  the  tintinnabulation^  that  so  musically^ wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells — 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells. 

2.  Hear  the  mellow  wedding-bells, 
6.  Golden  bells ! 

What  a  world  of  happiness  their  harmony  foretells  ! 
Through  the  balmy  air  of  night 
How  they  ring  ont  their  delight ! 
From  the  molten-golden  notes. 

And  all  in  tune, 
What  a  liquid  ditty  floats 
To  the  turtle-dove  that  listens,  while  she  gloats 
On  the  moon ! 
Oh,  from  out  the  sounding  cells, 
What  a  gush  of  euphony^  voluminously  wells^  I 
How  it  swells^ ! 
How  it  dwells" 
On  the  Future^ !  how  it  tells 
Of  the  rapture  that  impels 

a.  Pronounced  in  a  soft  and  silvei'y  tone.  The  remainder  of  the  verse  should  be  read 
in  a  sprightly  manner— approaching  a  sing-song  tone. 

h.  Prolonged,  smooth,  and  flowing.  The  verse  should  be  read  in  a  tone  full,  smooth, 
and  harmonious— dwelling,  with  a  kind  of  luxuriant  delight,  upon  the  emphatic  words. 


220  WILLSON's   FlJbTH   KEADEK. 

To  the  swinging  and  the  ringing 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells— 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells — 
To  the  rhyming  and  the  chiming  of  the  bells  I 

3.  Hear  the  loud  alarum  bells — 

a.  Brazen  bells ! 

What  a  tale  of  terror,  now,  their  turbulency  tells ! 
In  the  startled  ear  of  night 
How  they  scream  out  their  affright ! 
Too  much  horrified  tojpeak. 
They  can  only  shriek,"  shriek," 
Out  of  tune, 
In  a  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire, 
In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  d6af  and  frantic  fire 
Leaping  higher,  higher,  higher, 
With  a  desperate  desire. 
And  a  resolute  endeavor, 
Now — now  to  sit  or  never, 
By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Oh,  the  bells,  bells,  bells  ! 
What  a  tale  their  terror  tells 
Of  despair^ ! 
How  they  clang,  and  clash,  and  roar !  « 

What  a  horror  they  outpour 
On  the  bosom  of  the  palpitating  air ! 
Yet  the  ear,  it  fully  knows, 
By  the  twanging 
And  the  clanging. 
How  the  danger  ebbs  and  flows ; 
Yet  the  ear  distinctly  tells. 
In  the  jangling 
And  the  wrangling. 
How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells, 
By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling  in  the  anger  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells— 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells —    . 
In  the  clamor  and  the  clangor  of  the  bells  i 

4.  Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells — 

b.  Iron  bells ! 

What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody*  compeb ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night. 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone ! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan." 
And  the  peo]ile — ah,  the  people — 
They  that  dwell  u])  in  the  steeple, 


ff.  Harsh  and  loud— the  voice  alternately  sinking  and  swelling  tliroughout  the 
aH  "  the  danger  einks  and  BwelU,"  and  to  accord  with  "  the  unpror  of  thp  hollc." 
h.  Deep,  Blow,  and  Bolemn. 


FOURTH   MISCELLANEOUS    DIVISION.  221 

All  alone," 
a.  And  who  tolling,"  tolling,"  tolling," 
In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone^ — 
They  are  neither  man  nor  woman — 
They  are  neither  brute  por  human — 

They  are  Ghouls^  :* 
And  their  king  it  is_who  tolls ; 
a.  And  he  rolls,"  rolls,"  rolls,"  rolls," 
A  psean^  from  the  bells^ ! 
And  his  merry  bosom  swells 
With  the  paean  of  the  bells ! 
h.  And  he  dances  and  he  yells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
To  the  pgean  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
c.       To  the  throbbing  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells, 

c.  To  the  sobbing  of  the  bells ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 

As  he  knells,  knells,  knells, 
In  a  happy  Runic  rhyme, 

d.  To  the  rolling  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells — 

d.      To  the  tdlling  of  the  bells. 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells- 
Bells,  bells,  bells, 
e.  To  the  moaning  and  the  groaning  of  the  bells. — Edgar  A.  Poe. 

1  Ru'-Ki€,  Gothic  in  character ;  rude.  ^  Guoul,  a  fabled  demon  that  feeds  on  hu- 

2  Tin-tin-nab-u-la'-tion,  a  tinkling,  as  of      man  flesh, 
little  bells.  ^  P^/-an,  (pe'-an)^  a  joyous  or  triumphal 

■■*  EC'-piio-NY,  musical  sweetness  of  sound.       song. 
4  M6n'-o-dy,  a  poem  or  song  sung  by  one 
person  to  express  his  griet 


LESSON   IV. — SPEAKING  AND   DOING. 

Speech  without  action  is  a  moral  dearth. 
And  to  advance  the  world  is  little  worth : 
Let  us  think  much,  say  little,  and  much  do, 
If  to  ourselves  and  God  we  will  be  true ; 

And  ask  within. 
What  have  I  done  of  that  I  have  to  do  ? 

Is  conscience  silent — say^  ? 
Oh !  let  my  deeds  be  many  and  my  words  be  few. — Bulleid. 

a.  a.  Heavy  and  prolonged  monotone. 

6.  A  degree  of  unearthly  wildness  is  here  expressed,  indicative  of  the  exultation  of  the 
"Ghouls  !"  c.  c.  The  words  throbbing  and  sobbing  are  emphatic 

d.  d.  Rolling  and  tolling  require  prolonged  emphasis. 

e.  The  voice  should  be  much  prolonged  on  moaning  and  groaning — the  sound  harmon- 
izing with  the  sense. 


222  willson's  fifth  keadek. 


LESSON   V. — RESISTANCE  TO   BEITISn   OPPRESSION. 

The  battle,  sir,  is  not  to  the  strong  alone ;  it  is  to  the  active, 
the  vigilant,  the  brave.  Besides,  sir,  we  have  no  election.  If 
we  were  base  enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late  to  retire 
from  the  contest.  There  is  no  retreat  but  in  submission  and 
slavery.  Our  chains  are  forged.  Their  clanking  may  be 
heard  on  the  plains  of  Boston.  The  war  is  inevitable,  and  let 
it  come !  I  repeat  it,  sir,  let  it  come !  It  is  in  vain,  sir,  to 
extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen  may  cry  Peace!  peace! 
but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is  actually  begun !  The  next 
gale  that  sweeps  from  the  north  will  bring  to  our  ears  the 
clash  of  resounding  arms !  Our  brethren  are  already  in  the 
field.  Why  stand  we  here  idle  ?  What  is  it  that  gentlemen 
wish  ?  What  would  they  have  ?  Is  life  so  dear,  or  peace  so 
sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  at  the  price  of  chains  and  slavery  ? 
Forbid  it,  Heaven !  I  know  not  what  course  others  may  take ; 
but  as  for  me,  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me"  death  ! 

Patrick  Henry. 


LESSON   VI. THE   AMERICAN   INDIANS. 

As  a  race,  they  have  withered  from  the  land.  Their  arrows 
are  broken,  their  springs  are  dried  up,  their  cabins  are  in  the 
dust.  Their  council-fire  has  long  since  gone  out  on  the  shore, 
and  their  war-cry  is  fast  dying  away  to  the  untrodden  West. 
Slowly  and  sadly  they  climb  the  distant  mountains,  and  read 
their  doom  in  the  setting  sun.  They  are  shrinking  before  the 
mighty  tide  which  is  pressing  them  away ;  they  must  soon 
hear  the  roar  of  the  last  wave,  which  will  settle  over  them 
forever.  Ages  hence,  the  inquisitive  white  man,  as  he  stands 
by  some  growing  city,  will  ponder  on  the  structure  of  their 
disturbed  remains,  and  wonder  to  what  manner  of  person  they 
belonged.  They  will  live  only  in  the  songs  and  chronicles  of 
their  exterminators.  Let  these  be  faithful  to  their  rude  vir- 
tues as  men,  and  pay  due  tribute  to  their  uuliappy  fate  as  a 
people. — Sprague. 


Times  of  general  calamity  and  confusion  have  ever  been 
productive  of  the  greatest  minds.  The  ]>urcst  ore  is  pro- 
duced from  the  hottest  furnace,  and  the  brightest  thunder- 
bolt is  elicited  from  the  darkest  storm.— Lacon. 


Part  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OK   FISHES. 


223 


PAET  V. 
FOURTH  DIVISION  OF  ZOOLOGY ;» 

EMBRACING 

ICHTHYOLOaY,^ 

OR  THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  FISHES. 


1.  Butterfly  Fish,  Blennius  oceJlaris,  6  inclies.      2.  Gattoruginous  Blenny,  Blemnius 
gattorugine^  8  inches.     Both  are  salt-water  fish.     See  p.  240. 

LESSON"   I. — NATURE   OF   THE   STUDY. 

1.  On,  Avhat  an  endleps  work  have  I  in  hand\ 

To  count  the  sea's  abundant  progeny^  !3 
Whose  fruitful  seed*  far  passeth  those  on  land, 

And  also  those  which  fill  the  azure  sky  ! 

'Tia  easier  far  to  tell^  the  stars  on  high\ 
Although  they  endless  scem^  in  estimation', 

Than  to  recount  the  sea's  posterity^; 
So  fertile  be  the  floods  in  generation\6 
So  vast  their  numbers',  and  so  numberless  their  nation. — Spknser. 

2.  The  sounds  and  seas',  each  creek  and  bay', 
With  fry7  innumerable  swarm\  and  shoals'' 
Of  fish  that  with  their  fins,  and  shining  scales. 
Glide  under  the  gi'een  wave,  in  sculls^  that  oft 
Bank  10  the  mid  sea.     Part  single,'  or  with  mate'. 
Graze  the  sea-weed  their  pasture\  and  through  groves 
Of  coral  stray^ ;  or,  spoiting  with  quick  glance. 

Show  to  the  sun  their  waved  coats  dropt^  with  gold Milton. 

3.  Fishes  form  the  last  of  the  four  divisions  of  the  vertc- 
brated  animals.  As  inhabitants  of  a  medium  so  widely  differ- 
ent from  that  in  which  terrestrial^^  creatures  exist,  and,  in 


224  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  v. 

general,  rapidly  perishing  when  withdrawn  from  their  native 
element,  they  are  much  less  frequently  the  objects  of  our  ob- 
servation than  those  auhnals  which,  as  sharing  with  us  the 
vitaU^  influence  of  the  atmosphere,  and  being  inhabitants  of 
the  soil  on  which  we  ourselves  rest,  we  meet  with  at  every 
turn,  and  with  the  forms  and  habits  of  which  we  become,  al- 
most unconsciously,  more  or  less  familiar. 

4.  Fishes  are  rarely  domesticated^'^  in  our  houses ;  we  do 
not  meet  with  them  in  our  walks ;  the^  are  never  presented 
to  us  in  our  menageries ;  nay,  we  seldom  find  preparations 
of  them  even  in  our  museums :  we  see  them,  for  the  most 
part,  only  in  our  markets  or  on  our  tables,  and  know  them 
chiefly  but  as  administering  to  our  palates.  K  we  follow 
them  to  their  native  haunts,  ^^  it  is  too  frequently  in  the  same 
spirit  that  we  pursue  the  fluttering  bird  with  our  gun,  or  the 
panting  hare  with  our  hounds — in  pursuit  of  a  barbarous 
sport,  and  with  no  other  end  in  view  than  the  gratification  of 
vanity  in  the  contemplation  of  our  dexterity  in  hooking  and 
torturing  them. 

5.  But  are  fishes,  constituting,  as  they  do,  the  principal  in- 
habitants of  by  far  the  largest  portion  of  our  globe,  worthy 
of  no  greater  attention  than  this  ?  Is  their  structure  less  won- 
derful, or  are  their  habits  less  interesting,  than  those  of  the 
animals  with  which  we  are  for  the  most  part  better  acquaint- 
ed ?  On  the  contrary,  is  it  not  reasonable  to  suppose  that 
the  investigation  of  the  structure,  and  functions,  and  habits 
of  animals  so  peculiarly  circumstanced,  will  open  to  us  sources 
of  admiration  and  delight  as  extensive  as  they  are  novel; 
and,  by  furnishing  us  with  so  many  new  associations,  render 
us  still  better  informed  with  respect  to  animals  concerning 
which  we  may  flatter  ourselves  we  have  little  or  nothing  to 
learn'? 

6.  Fishes  may  justly  be  considered  to  hold  an  important 
place  in  the  mighty  scale  of  creation,  as  furnishing  food  for 
man ;  and,  viewed  in  this  light  alone,  the  subject  is  one  of 
great  importance,  from  the  economical  and  commercial  rela- 
tions which  grow  out  of  it.  We  venture,  moreover,  to  assure 
the  student  that,  however  devoid  of  interest  tliis  department 
of  Natural  History  may  seem  to  be  when  viewed  from  a 
distance,  it  offers  to  him  a  far  greater  variety  of  diversified 
forms  of  life  than  birds  and  quadrupeds  united ;  and  we  also 
assure  him  that  he  will  not  tail  to  find,  throughout  its  wide 
domains,  nunK3rous  illustrations  of  the  wisdom,  goodness,  and 
power  of  the  Creator.     Nature  is  ever  eloquent : 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   PISHES.  226 

'■'■  Heaven,  earth,  and  sea 
Hymn  forth  the  praises  of  the  Deity." 


1  Zo-ol'-o-gy,  see  Third  Reader,  p.  240. 

2  l€H-THY-6i.'-o-GT  (Greek  ichthus^  a  fish, 
and  logos,  discourse.) 

3  Pb6g'-e-ny,  inhabitants;  descendants. 
*  Seed,  offspring;  progeny. 

s  Tell,  count. 

6  6en-ek-a'-tion,  production  of  inhabitants. 

7  Fey,  a  crowd  of  small  fish. 

8  Shoal,  a  multitude. 


9  SexiLL,  a  shoal  or  multitude  of  fish.    (.Vo 
longer  itsed.) 

10  Banic,  to  cause  a  mound  or  bank  by  their 
numbers. 

11  DuopT,  sprinkled  or  variegated. 

12  Teb-ees'-tri-al,  belonging  to  the  land. 

13  Vi'-TAL,  life-sustaining. 

1*  Do-ME8'-Ti-€A-TED,  kept  in  a  tame  state. 
15  Haunts,  retreats  ;  places  of  resort. 


LESSON"    II. THE   PHYSIOLOGY^    OF  FISHES. 

1.  "  OuB  plenteous  streams  a  various  race  supply : 

The  bright-eyed  perch,  with  fins  of  varied  dye ; 
The  silver  eel,  in  shining  volumes  rolled ; 
The  yellow  carp,  in  scales  bedropt  with  gold ; 
Swift  trouts,  diversified  with  crimson  stains  ; 
And  pikes,  the  tyrants  of  the  watery  plains." 

2.  The  natural  history  of  fishes  treats  of  their  structure 
and  form,  their  habits  and  uses,  and  their  classification.  By 
the  term  fish  we  are  to  understand  an  animal  that  has  a  spinal 
column  or  back-bone,  and  that  lives  in  the  water ;  that  has  a 
naked  body,  or  a  body  covered  with  plates  or  scales ;  that 
moves  commonly  by  means  of  fins ;  that  breathes  by  means 
of  gills  instead  of  lungs ;  that  has  a  single  instead  of  a  double 
heart ;  and  that  has  cold  instead  of  warm  blood. 

3.  If  these  are  the  characteristics^  of  fishes,  we  see  the 
reason  why  such  animals  as  whales,  dolphins,  porpoises,  seals, 
and  some  others,  although  they  live  in  the  water,  are  not 
fishes ;  for  all  of  them  breathe  by  lungs  ;  they  have  a  double 
heart  like  that  found  in  man  and  all  the  mammalia ;  and  they 
are  warm-blooded.  They  are  therefore  included  among  the 
mammalia,  and  have  already  been  described  by  us  in  the  first 
great  division  of  Natural  History. 

4.  The  blood  of  fishes  generally  assumes  the  temperature^ 
of  the  element  in  which  they  live.  The  red  blood  disks  are 
sometimes  circular  and  sometimes  oval ;  but  they  are  larger 
than  those  of  the  mammalia  and  birds,  and  smaller  than  those 
of  reptiles.  But  the  cold  blood  of  fishes  circulates  through 
their  bodies,  and  performs  the  same  office  as  the  warm  blood 
in  man — that  of  building  up  and  repairing  the  body,  and  re- 
moving its  waste  and  worn-out  particles. 

5.  Fishes,  the  same  as  warm-blooded  animals,  need  to  have 
their  blood  purified  by  the  oxygen*  of  the  air ;  and  they  are 
so  formed  as  to  be  able  to  obtain  from  the  air  which  is  in  the 
water  a  quantity  of  oxygen  sufficient  for  this  purpose.     Their 

K2 


226  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pabt  V. 

gills,  which  are  placed  on  each  side  of  the  forward  part  of 
the  body,  answer  the  place  of  lungs.  Here  are  spread  out 
innumerable  blood-vessels,  which  receive  the  blood  from  the 
heart ;  and  as  the  water  which  the  fislf  takes  in  at  the  mouth 
is  driven  through  the  gills,  the  oxygen  which  it  contains  passes 
into  the  blood,  and  thus  accomplishes  the  object  for  which 
all  animals  breathe. 

6.  If  by  any  means  the  gill-covers,  or  openings,  are  kept 
closed  for  a  short  time,  the  fish  will  die  for  want  of  air  to 
purify  the  blood,  the  same  as  man  dies  when  the  air  is  ex- 
cluded from  his  lungs.  A  fish  will  die  very  quickly  in  the 
water  when  its  mouth  is  kept  open  by  a  hook,  for  it  can  not 
then  cause  the  water  to  circulate  through  the  gills ;  the  gill- 
covers  then  close,  and  the  air  is  prevented  from  reaching  the 
blood.  The  angler  often  avails  himself  of  a  knowledge  of 
this  principle  to  suffocate  or  droion  a  strong  fish.  When  a 
fish  is  taken  out  of  the  water,  it  opens  and  shuts  its  mouth 
and  raises  the  gill-covers  alternately ;  but  as  the  arches  which 
support  the  gills  collapse,^  and  it  can  not  raise  them  Avithout 
the  aid  of  water,  .the  situation  of  the  fish  is  similar  to  that  of 
an  air-breathing  animal  inclosed  in  a  vacuum,  and  death  by 
suffocation  is  the  consequence. 

1,  The  importance  of  fishes,  as  a  source  of  national  wealth, 
renders  their  geographical  distribution  a  matter  of  interest 
and  importance ;  and  this  seems  to  be  determined  by  laws 
quite  similar  to  those  which  regulate  the  distribution  of  land 
animals.  Climate  evidently  exerts  an  important  influence  in 
regulating  the  distinctions  of  form  and  color  between  fishes 
of  tropical  and  those  of  temperate  regions  :  some  species  are 
found  only  in  deep  water,  and  others  in  shallows ;  some  in 
fresh,  and  others  in  salt  water ;  while,  even  in  the  sea,  extens- 
ive reefs,  and  even  great  depths,  so  effectually  divide  even 
kindred  species,  that  the  fishes  of  the  coast  of  the  Atlantic 
States  are  for  the  most  part  distinct  from  those  on  the  Euro- 
pean side  of  the  Atlantic. 

8.  In  the  classification  of  fishes  two  great  divisions  are 
made,  the  entire  class  being  divided  into  the  two  great 
groups,  the  Bony  and  the  Cartilaginous.  Tlie  fishes  hav- 
ing bony  skeletons  are  then  subdivided  into  the  two  classes, 
the  Spine-rayed  and  the  Soft-rayed — the  former  liaving  some 
of  their  fins  furnished  with  simple  bony  rays,  like  spines ;  and 
the  latter  having  the  fin  rays  soft  and  flexible.  Fislies  may 
therefore  be  grouped  in  three  great  classes:  1st,  the  Spine- 
rayed  Bony  Fishes ;  2(1,  the  Soft-rayed  Bony  Fishes  :  and,  3d, 


Part  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES. 


227 


the  Cartilaginous  FishesflpThe  latter  have  the  skeleton  com- 
posed of  gristle  or  cartilage  instead  of  bone.* 

1  Phts-i-ol'-o-gy,  the  science  which  treats! 3  Tem'-pee-a-tuke,  degree  of  wannth. 

of  the  functions  of  the  different  parts  or  or-  *  ox'-y-gen.    See  p.  269;  and  Fourth  Eead- 
gans  of  animals  or  plants,  er,  p.  53. 

2  t;HAB-AC-TEB-Is'-Ti€8,  peculiar  qualities.    |5  €ol-lapse',  fall  together;  close. 


•  In  treating  of  fishes  we  have  chiefly  followed  the  arrangement  of  Cuvier,  because  most 
works  on  Ichthyology  accessible  to  students  adopt  this  system,  and  it  is  one  that  is  easily 
understood.  The  new  classification  of  Agassiz,  however,  as  it  better  accords  with  the  or- 
der of  succession  which  is  found  to  exist  in  the  course  of  geologic  history,  will  doubtless 
eventually  be  adopted  in  most  scientific  ti-eatise?,  and  thus  some  knowledge  of  both  sys- 
tems will  be  desirable.  Agassiz  arranges  fishes,  in  accordance  with  the  peculiar  structure 
of  the  scales^  in  the  following  four  orders,  a  system  which  is  applicable  to  the  fossil  as 
well  as  the  living  forms. 

1st.  Placoids — embracing  those  which,  to  a  cartilaginous  skeleton,  unite  a  skin  that  is 
covered  irregularly  with  enameled  plates  or  scales,  often  elevated  in  the  middle,  and  some- 
times with  a  strong  projecting  point  or  spine,  as  the  shagreen  on  the  skin  of  the  sharks., 
and  the  tubercles  of  the  mys.     Fossils  abundant,  but  existing  species  few. 

2d.  Ganoids — embracing  all,  whether  cartilaginous  or  not,  that  are  covered  by  a  nearly 
continuous  annor  of  angular  scales  of  enameled  bone,  or  bony  plates  that  fit  to  each  other 
as  the  slates  on  a  roof.  Examples— sturgeons  and  gar  fish.  In  a  past  geological  era  the 
ganoids  existed  in  vast  numbers,  but  they  have  almost  entirely  disappeared  from  creation. 

3d.  Ctenoids — fishes  whose  scales  consist  of  plates  having  their  posterior  edges  pecti- 
nated or  comb-like,  such  as  perches.     This  is  a  very  large  division  of  existing  species. 

4th.  Cycloids— fishes  whose  scales  are  entire,  and  of  circular  form,  as  in  the  salmon, 
trout,  shiners.     Also  a  very  large  division. 

The  Ctenoids  and  Cycloids  comprise  nearly  nine  tenths  of  all  existing  species.  The 
earliest  fossil  fish,  fir^t  appearing  near  the  close  of  the  transition  period  (see  Geology,  p. 
464),  were  all  Placoids.  Next  iu  order  were  the  Ganoids.,  which  first  appear  in  the  lower 
strata  of  the  secondary  period  (see  Geology,  p.  466).  These  two  latter  orders  comprised,  for 
untold  agei?,  so  far  as  is  yet  known,  all  the  fish  that  existed.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  sec- 
ondary period  (see  p.  468)  the  Ctenoids  and  Cycloids  were  ushered  in. 


^fOorsal 


Tiie  Common  Pike-Perch,  Ludoperca  Americana. 

In  describing  a  fish,  the  size,  form,  and  color  are  given— the  number,  character,  and  po- 
Rition  of  the  fins — and  frequently  the  shape  and  character  of  the  scales,  the  character  of 
the  gills,  and  the  number  of  the  gill-openings. 

The  most  important  and  easily  recognized  of  these  features  are  the  fins ;  and  in  describ- 
ing them  the  names  are  given,  and  the  number  rf  spitw^  or  rays  in  each.  In  the  above 
fish — the  (Jommon  Pike-Perch  of  th'^  Grpat  Lakes  and  Western  waters  (often,  but  improp- 
erly, called  the  Pike,  or  Pickerel)— the  fins  are  briefly  described  as  follows  : 

D.  14-1,  22  ;  A.  1, 11 ;  C  17  ;  P.  15 ;  V,  1, 5  ; 
the  letters  denoting  the  names  of  the  fins,  and  the  figures  the  number  of  spine?.  There 
being,  in.  the  above  fish,  two  divisions  of  the  dorsal  fin,  it  is  designated  as  D,  14—1,  22  ; 
showing  that  the  first  dors.al  has  14  rays,  all  spinous ;  in  the  second  dorsal  1  spinous,  and 
22  that  are  soft ;  A.  the  anal  fin,  with  1  spinous  ray,  and  11  that  are  soft ;  C.  the  tail  or 
caudal  fin,  17  rays ;  P.  pectoi'al  fin,  15  soft  rays  ;  V,  the  ventral  fin,  with  one  spinous  ray, 
and  5  that  are  soft. 


228 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Part  V. 


FIEST  CLASS  OF  FISHES. 

SPINE-RAYED  BONY  FISHES.     {Acantliopterygii.y 


iieate  of  Ine/iet. 

The  Pekoh  Familt.— 1.  American  Yellow  Perch,  Perca  Jlavesceiis.  2.  Striped  Soa-bfts^, 
Labrax  lineatus.  3.  Dlack  Bass,  or  Black  Perch  of  Lnke  Huron,  lltiro  nnjricaiis.  4.  Growl- 
er, or  White  Salmon  of  Virj^iiiia,  Oi^stes  salmoides.  5,  Black  Sea-haae^Ceiitropistt's  nigri- 
cans. 6.  Mcditen-anean  Apogon,  Ajwgon  trirnaculatiis.  7.  Two-banded  Diploprion,  Di- 
ploprion  M/neiatum.  8.  One-npotted  Mcsoprion,  Mrsojyrion  uniiiotatus.  9.  Kiiby-col- 
ored  Etelis,  Ktelis  carhuncuhis.  10.  Armed  EnoplossuR,  Enoplosstta  armaiu^.  11.  I.et- 
tered  Serranns,  Serranua  scriboL.  12.  Spined  Scrranus,  Serranits  anihiaa.  13.  Ked  Sur- 
iiiuUct,  Mullus  harlxttus. 

LESSON"   III. — THE  PERCH  FAMILY.       (CTENOIDS.) 

1.  The  spine-rayed  bony  fishes  comprise  more  than  three 
fourths  of  all  the  various  kinds  that  are  known.  From  four- 
teen to  seventeen  different  families,  some  of  them  embracing 
several  hundred  species  each,  have  been  included  in  this  di- 
vision. At  the  head  of  the  whole  stands  the  Perch  family, 
the  most  numerous  of  all.  Most  of  them  are  salt-water  fish, 
but  about  one  fifth  of  the  whole  number  inhabit  fresh-water 
streams,  or  occasionally  ascend  them  from  the  sea. 

*  A-oAN-Tnop-TKB-Y6'-Ti,from  two  Greek  words,  amnthofi,  a  thorn,  &ni  ptmtfrion^H  lit- 
tle wlnp:  or  fin,  nieaniiiR  thorny  or  fipine-rniicd.  The  fishes  of  this  order  are  distinguish- 
ed by  having  the  anterior  portion  of  the  dorsal,  or  of  the  first  dorsal  where  there  aro  two, 
f  upported  by  spinous  rays  consisting  of  single  bony  pieces.  SpiIl'>n^;  mv-;  nn.  ■.<]<,^  tnmirl 
iu  the  anal,  and  at  least  one  in  the  ventral  fliis. 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES.  229 

2.  Those  which  are  usually  known  by  the  name  of  perch, 
however,  are  fresh-water  fish,  and  they  have  been  celebrated 
from  the  time  of  Aristotle  for  their  beautiful  forms,  and  the 
excellence  of  their  flesh  as  an  article  of  food. 

Nor  let  the  muse,  in  her  award  of  fame, 

Illustrious  Perch^nnoticei  pass  thy  claim ; 

Prince  of  the  prid^  cohort,  bred  in  lakes 

To  feast  our  boards,  what  sapid  i  boneless  flakes 

Thy  solid  flesh  supplies  !     Though  river-fed, 

No  daintier  fish  in  ocean's  pastures  bred 

Swims  thy  compeer  ;  scarce  mullet  may  compete 

With  thee  for  fibre  firm  and  flavor  sweet. — Ausoniits. 

3.  In  the  Perch  family  are  included  no  less  than  five  difier- 
ent  kinds  of  perch  found  in  our  waters,  the  pike-perch,  numer- 
ous species  of  bass,  the  growler,  or  white  salmon  of  Virginia, 
and  many  other  species,  exhibiting  a  great  variety  of  form  and 
coloring,  found  on  the  European  and  Asiatic  coasts.  Their 
general  character,  as  to  form  and  size,  will  best  be  learned 
from  the  representations  given  in  the  engraving  at  the  head 
of  this  lesson.  All  the  fishes  of  this  family  agree  in  the  tooth- 
ed or  comb-like  edges  of  their  scales,  and  in  having  notched 
or  spined  gill-covers ;  but,  while  some  have  but  one  dorsal  fin, 
in  others  there  is  a  division,  constituting  two. 

4.  The  European  river  perch,  like  our  common  yellow  perch, 
is  exceedingly  voracious.  An  anecdote  is  related  of  a  gentle- 
man who,  in  fishing,  lost  a  perch  from  his  line,  the  hook  tear- 
ing out  the  eye  of  the  poor  creature.  He  then  adjusted  the 
eye  on  the  hook  and  replaced  the  line  in  the  water,  where  it 
had  hardly  been  a  few  minutes  before  the  float  was  violently 
jerked  under  the  surface.  On  landing  the  fish,  he  found  he 
had  captured  a  fine  perch,  which  proved  to  be  the  very  fish 
which  had  just  been  mutilated,  and  which  had  actually  lost 
its  life  by  devouring  its  own  eye.  It  is  quaintly  obser^^^  by 
Izaak  Walton,  that  "if  there  be  twenty  or  forty  in  a  hol^^ey 
may  be  at  one  standing  all  caught,  one  after  another,  they  be- 
ing, like  the  wicked  of  the  world,  not  afraid,  though  their  fel- 
lows and  companions  perish  in  their  sight." 

5.  The  incident  related  concerning  the  perch  is  one  among 
many  facts  that  might  be  given,  showing  how  erroneous  is  the 
idea  that  "  the  worm  on  which  we  tread  feels  a  pang  as  great 
as  when  a  giant  dies."  On  the  contrary,  the  nervous  organi- 
zation of  the  lower  orders  of  animals  is  such  that  they  seem 
to  sufler  but  little,  compared  with  what  man  endures,  in  being 
maimed  or  killed.  This  is,  assuredly,  a  most  benevolent  pro- 
vision, greatly  diminishing  the  amount  of  sufl*ering  that  would 
otherwise  be  endured  throughout  all  animated  nature. 


230  vvillson's  fifth  reader.  Part  v. 

6.  Of  all  the  beautiful  colored  fish,  several  species  of  which 
belong  to  the  Perch  family,  it  may  be  remarked  that  they  can 
never  be  seen  in  perfection  except  when  newly  taken  from  the 
water.  Then  their  beauty  is  fresh  and  delicate,  but  it  changes 
as  soon  as  the  fish  dies  ;  and  the  keeping  for  a  day,  or  preser- 
vation in  spirits,  destroys  all  but  ti|e  mere  traces  of  their  del- 
icate markings. 

1.  Of  the  little  spined  serranus,  which  was  well  known  to 
the  ancients,  and  is  still  very  abundant  in  the  Mediterranean, 
very  curious  and  remarkable  stories  are  told ;  but  as  they  are 
only  Jish  stories,  we  can  not  insist  that  our  readers  shall  be- 
lieve them.  It  will  be  observed  that  the  forward  dorsal  fin 
of  this  fish  is  armed  Avith  long  and  sharp  spines,  the  third  one 
of  which  is  much  the  longest.  From  the  supposed  resem. 
blance  of  this  spine  to  a  razor,  the  French  call  this  fish  "  The 
Barber." 

8.  The  long  spines  of  the  serranus  are  considered  a  very 
formidable  weapon  of  defense ;  and  by  the  divers  for  marine 
productions  the  fish  itself  is  regarded  as  sacred,  because  they 
declare  that  no  other  fish,  however  large,  dare  approach  its 
retreats,  and  that  there  is  always  safety  f^oni  the  attacks  of 
sea-monsters  wherever  this  little  fish  is  found.  Moreover, 
the  divers  assert  that  whenever  one  of  these  fish  is- caught  by 
a  hook,  the  rest  of  the  shoal  immediately  cut  the  line  by  rush- 
ing against  it  with  their  sharp  spines,  and  thus  relieve  their 
companion. 

9.  In  the  Perch  family  is  a  small  fish  called  the  red  sur- 
mullet, which  is  supposed  to  be  the  fish  so  celebrated  among 
the  Romans  for  the  excellence  of  its  flesh,  its  extreme  beauty, 
and  the  extravagant  sums  paid  for  it.  It  appears  to  have 
beei^steemed  by  the  Roman  epicures^  above  every  other  ar- 
ticwPf  food ;  and  the  larger  ones,  weighing  five  or  six  pounds, 
were  obtained  only  at  prodigious  prices.     Juvenal  says  : 

''  Six  scanty  pounds  tho  mullet  weighed ; 
Six  thousand  sastercesa  tlie  wi?c  man  paid !" 

Seneca  mentions  that  a  surmullet  of  four  pounds'  weight  was 
presented  to  the  Emperor  Tiberius,  who  sent  it  to  the  market, 
where  it  was  purchased  for  five  thousand  sesterces ;  and  at  a 
later  period  one  was  sold  for  eight  thousand  sesterces,  a  sum 
equal  to  more  than  tliree  hundred  dollars  of  our  money. 

10.  While  with  these  Roman  epicures  the  smaller  the  tur- 
hot  the  greater  the  prize,  yet  they  eagerly  sought  for  the 
largest  specimens  of  the  mullet  that  could  be  procured.  Hor- 
ace supposes  this  mere  caprice,  and  asks, 


PaktV.  ichthyology,  or  fishes.  231 

*'  Of  carps  and  mullet  -why  prefer  the  great, 
Though  cut  in  pieces  ere  my  lord  can  eat, 
Yet  for  small  turbot  such  regard  profesH^  ? 
Because  God  made  this  large',  the  other  less\" 

11.  It  has  been  truly  remarked  that  mullets  stand  pre-em- 
inent in  the  annals  of  human  luxury,  cruelty,  and  folly.  In 
their  feasts  the  Romans  reveled  over  the  dying  surmullet, 
while  the  bright  red  color  of  health  passed  through  various 
shades  of  purple,  violet,  blue,  and  white,  as  life  gradually  ebb- 
ed, and  convulsions  put  an  end  to  the  admired  spectacle. 
They  put  these  devoted  fish  into  crystal  vessels  filled  with 
water,  over  a  slow  fire,  upon  their  tables,  and  complacently 
regarded  the  lingering  suflTerings  of  their  victims  as  the  in- 
creasing heat  gradually  prepared  them  for  their  pampered^  ap- 
petites. 

12.  Probably  the  changes  which  the  blood  underwent  in 
the  minute  capillaries,^  as  it  was  gradually  deprived  of  its 
life-preserving  oxygen,  produced  those  varied  hues  which  the 
poet  has  so  well  described  : 

''It  dies  like  parting  clay; 
-each  pang  imbued 


With  a  new  color,  as  it  gasp  i  away. 

The  last  still  loveliest,  till— 'tis  gone,  and  all  is  gray." 


Striped  Red  Mullet,  Mullus  surmuletus. 

The  striped  red  mullet,  a  beautiful  fish  of  a  pale  pink  color, 
but  somewhat  larger  than  the  one  known  to  the  Romans,  is 
found  in  considerable  numbers  on  the  English  coasts.  The 
mullets,  like  the  cod  and  some  other  fish  which  feed  in  deep 
water,  are  furnished  with  long  feelers  attached  to  the  lower 
jaw,  supposed  to  be  delicate  organs  of  touch,  by  which  these 
iish  are  enabled  to  select  their  food  on  the  muddy  bottoms. 


'  Sap'-id,  well-tasted  ;  savory  ;  palatable. 

2  Ep'-i-ct'EK,  one  who  indulges  in  the  luxu- 
ries of  the  table. 

3  Ses'-teeoe,  a  Roman  coin,about  four  cents. 


4  Pam'-peeed,  fed  to  the  full ;  glutted. 

5  €Ap'-iL-i.A-Ky,  a  small  blood-vessel;  .ser 
Fourth  Reader,  p.  59,  60. 


232 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Party 


LES.   IV, — OTHER   FAMILIES   OF  THE   SPINE-RATED  FISHES. 


Hcale  of  Jnchea. 

1.  Mailed  Gurnard,  Peristedwn  vialarniat.  2.  Big  Porgee,  Paqrus  arg^irops.  3.  Band- 
ed Ephippu8,  or  Three-tailed  Porgee,  Ephijypus  faher.  4.  The  Sheepshead  (famed  for  Us 
exquisite  flesh),  Sm-gus  ovis.  5.  Streaked  or  I{ock  Gurnard,  Trigla  lincata.  6.  Axil- 
lary Sea  Bream,  Pagellua  acame.  7,  Bearded  Umbrina,  ITmbrinn  vulgaris.  (The  Um- 
biina  is  given  as  the  representative  of  the  family  of  the  Mnigres,  which  includes  our  Weak- 
fi.-^h,  Corvinas,  the  Chub,  King-fish,  and  the  Drum^  the  latter  noted  for  the  loud  drum- 
ming noise  which  it  makes,  and  the  cause  of  which  is  still  a  mystery. )  8.  Common  Mack- 
erel, Scomber  scomber. 

1 .  Of  the  remaining  numerous  families  of  the  spine-rayed 
division  of  fishes,  most  of  which  are  represented  in  the  ac- 
companying illustrations,  only  a  very  brief  description  can 
here  be  given. 

2.  The  Gurnards,  or  Mailed- 
cheeks,  which  are  abundant  on 
our  northern  coasts,  are  a  nu- 
merous family  of  marine  fishes, 
which  have  received  their  com- 
mon name  from  the  growling  or 
grunting  noise  which  they  make 
when  sporting  in  the  water,  or 
when   recently    taken   from    it. 

1.  Ten-  (pr  Nin.-)  Hpined  StickUbick,   The   Sticlvlcbacks a  divisiOU  of 

Oasferosteuspungitnfi.    2.  rour-npUicd    .i        cn»^-»n  -ToiyiJU'   on,  i-inmnrl  fmnt 

n.,o.spinuioam.  3. short-spiued s.. (?.  ^'^G  samc  Limii}, SO  namefi  11  om 
brachycentrm.  *  the  Bpiucs  which  ami  their  backs 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR  FISHES.  233 

and  fins — are  mostly  small  fishes,  of  from  one  to  three  inches 
in  length,  and  very  numerous  both  in  fresh  and  salt  water. 
They  are  exceedingly  active  and  greedy,  very  destructive  to 
small  fish  of  other  species,  which  they  devour,  and  therefore 
very  injurious  in  fish-ponds ;  and  they  also  have  furious  con- 
tests with  each  other.  The  fifteen-spined  stickleback,  found 
on  the  English  coasts,  is  noted  for  its  nest-building  propensi- 
ties.* The  following  account  of  the  fighting  habits  of  the 
sticklebacks  is  given  by  a  contributor  to  an  English  maga- 
zine: 

3.  "  When  a  few  are  first  turned  into  a  large  wooden  vessel,  they  swim 
about,  apparently  exploring  their  new  habitation.  Suddenly  one  will  take 
possession  of  a  particular  corner  of  the  tub,  or,  as  will  sometimes  happen, 
of  the  bottom,  and  will  instantly  commence  an  attack  upon  his  companions ; 
and  if  any  one  of  them  ventures  to  oppose  his  sway,  a  regular  and  most 
ferocious  battle  ensues :  the  two  combatants  swim  round  and  round  each 
other  with  the  greatest  rapidity,  biting  and  endeavoring  to  pierce  each  other 
with  their  spines. 

4.  "I  have  witnessed  a  battle  of  this  sort  which  lasted  several  minutes 
before  either  would  give  way ;  and  when  one  does  submit,  imagination  can 
hardly  conceive  the  vindictive  fury  of  the  conqueror,  who,  in  the  most  per- 
severing and  unrelenting  way,  chases  his  rival  from  one  part  of  the  tub  to 
another,  until  fairly  exhausted  with  fatigue.  They  also  use  their  spines 
with  such  fatal  effect,  that,  incredible  as  it  may  appear,  I  have  seen  one, 
during  a  battle,  absolutely  rip  his  opponent  quite  open,  so  that  he  sank  to 
the  bottom  and  died.  I  have  occasionally  known  three  or  four  parts  of  the 
tub  taken  possession  of  by  as  many  little  tyrants,  who  would  guard  their 
territories  with  the  strictest  vigilance ;  and  the  slightest  invasion  would  in- 
variably bring  on  a  battle." 

5.  The  tropical  species  of  the  large  family  of  the  "  Scaly 
Fins,"  among  which  is  included  the  New  York  porgee,  are 
conspicuous  for  the  extreme  splendor  bf  their  coloring,  which 
is  thus  spoken  of  by  an  eminent  English  naturalist,  Dr.  Ham- 
ilton: 

"If,"  he  remarks,  "  the  feathered  tribes  of  the  equatorial  regions  are  be- 
decked with  the  most  brilliant  and  gorgeous  hues,  the  neighboring  oceans 
contain  myriads  of  the  finny  race  which  in  this  respect  excel  them.  Upon 
the  group  of  the  Chetodons,  especially.  Nature  has  most  pi'ofusely  lavished 

*  The  fifteen-spined  stickleback,  a  salt-wa- 
ter fi~h,  often  called  the  sea-adder,  sometimes 
attains  a  length  of  six  or  seven  inches.  This 
fish  deposits  its  spawn  amid  the  fine  growing 
sea-weed.  Around  the  egg^,  which  are  of  the 
size  of  small  shot,  it  then  gathers  the  branch- 
es, which  it  binds  together  in  a  compact  mass 
with  an  exceedingly  fine  and  tough  elastic 
thread,  which  seems  to  be  formed  of  some  al- 
buminous secretion.  Other  instances  of  this 
_..  .     J  I,,..  1 ,  ,     ,  ^       J  nest-building   propensity  are  found  in   some 

Fifteen-spmed  Stickleback,  nest  and  eggs,  fresl^water  fishes  of  Demerara,  which  not  only 
construct  nests  of  grafts,  but  which  also  burrow  ll  the  banks  of  streams. 


234  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  V. 

these  splendid  ornaments.  The  purple  of  the  iris,'  the  richness  of  the  rose, 
the  azure  blue  of  the  sky,  the  darkest  velvet  black,  and  many  other  hues, 
are  seen  commingled  with  metallic  lustre  over  the  pearly  surface  of  this 
resplendent  group,  which,  habitually  frequenting  the  rocky  shores  at  no 
great  depth  of  water,  are  seen  to  sport  in  the  sunbeams,  as  if  to  exhibit  to 
advantage  their  gorgeous  dress. 

6.   "  Several  of  the  genera,"  farther  remarks  this  writer,  "  are  moreover 

distinguished  by  an  extraordinary  hab- 
it of  shooting  their  prey  by  projecting 
a  liquid  stream  from  their  mouths. 
Thus  the  genus  Chelmon  contains  a 
species  six  or  eight  inches  in  length, 
which,  when  it  perceives  a  fly,  or  other 
winged  insect,  hovering  near  it,  or  set- 
tled on  a  twig,  propels  against  it,  with 
considerable  force,  a  drop  of  liquid 
from  its  mouth,  so  as  to  drive  it  into 
Long-beaked  Chelmon,  Chelmon  longi-    the  water. 

rostris.  7.   "In  attacking  an  insect  at  rest, 

it  usually  approaches  cautiously,  and  very  deliberately  takes  its  aim.  It  is 
said  to  be  an  amusement  with  the  Chinese  in  Java  to  keep  this  fish  in  con- 
finement in  a  large  vessel  of  water,  that  they  may  witness  its  dexterity. 
They  fasten  a  fly,  or  other  insect,  to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  when  the  chelmon 
aims  at  it  with  such  precision  that  it  rarely  misses  its  mark.  The  archer, 
again,  belonging  to  another  genus  of  this  family,  shoots  his  watery  deluge 
to  the  height  of  three  or  four  feet,  and  strikes  almost  without  fail  the  insect 
at  which  it  aims." 

8.  Although  most  fish  soon  die  when  taken  out  of  their 
native  element,  yet  some  species  are  known  to  make  their 
way  over  land  from  one  piece  of  water  to  another;  and, 
stranger  still,  there  is  one  kind,  a  native  of  India,  about  the 
size  and  figure  of  a  perch,  and  usually  called  tlie  climbing 
perch,  which  has  been  Jcnown  to  climb  bushes  of  considerable 
height.  This  it  does  by  the  aid  of  its  long  ventral  fins,  which 
it  uses  as  feet.  These  fish  are  enabled  to  retain  sufficient 
moisture  to  keep  their  gills  moist  and  open  for  a  considerable 
time ;  and  it  is  well  known  that  it  is  not  the  abundance  of 
air,  but  the  want  of  it,  which  kills  fish  when  taken  out  of  the 
water. 

9.  The  Mackerel  family,  the  most  numerous  of  the  bony 
fishes  after  the  perches,  includes  more  than  three  hundred 
species,  mostly  marine  fish,  crowding  the  surface  of  the  ocean, 
especially  in  warm  latitudes,  and  having  an  exteusive  range. 
Amid  great  diversities  of  size  and  form,  extending  from  the 
little  mackerel  to  the  monster  sword-fisli,  the  numerous  mem- 
bers of  this  fiimily  possess  certain  cliaractcrs,  such  as  very 
minute  scales,  and  gill-covers  without  spines  or  notches,  which 
give  to  the  whole  a  family  ipsemblance  that  is  not  easily  mis- 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES.  235 

taken.  The  common  mackerel  is  not  only  beautiful  in  form, 
but  also,  when  seen  in  its  native  element,  brilliant  in  coloring. 
(See  cut,  Fig.  8,  p.  232.) 

10.  This  family  is  one  of  the  most  useful  to  man,  many  of 
the  species  constituting  excellent  food,  their  size  being  con- 
siderable, and  their  reproduction  enormous ;  and  as  they  are 
brought  periodically,  by  a  wise  provision  of  the  Creator,  from 
the  depths  of  the  ocean  to  shallow  waters  to  deposit  their 
eggs  or  spawn,  they  become  the  objects  of  highly  valuable 
and  inexhaustible  fisheries.  If  the  mackerel  "were  dispersed 
over  the  immense  surface  of  the  deep,  no  effective  fishery 
could  be  carried  on ;  but,  approaching  the  shore  as  they  do 
from  all  directions,  and  roving  along  the  coasts  in  immense 
shoals,  millions  are  caught,  which  yet  form  a  small  portion 
compared  with  the  myriads  which  escape. 

11.  The  common  tunny,*  a  large  fish  of  the  Mackerel 
family,  often  measuring  ten  or  twelve  feet  in  length,  and 
sometimes  weighing  over  a  thousand  pounds,  is  occasionally 
brought  into  the  New  York  markets ;  but  in  the  Mediterra- 
nean Sea  the  smaller  species  of  this  fish  swarm  at  certain  sea- 
sons of  the  year,  and  are  taken  in  immense  numbers.  A  fa- 
vorite time  for  catching  them  seems  to  have  been  at  the  full 
of  the  moon,  when,  allured  by  the  silvery  light,  they  glide  in 
great  bands  over  the  surface  of  the  water.  An  ancient  Greek 
poet  thus  alludes  to  their  capture  at  this  season : 

"  The  nets  have  been  thrown,  and  on  careless  fin 
The  moonlit  tunnies  will  soon  rush  in." 

The  striped  tunny,  a  smaller  fish,  is  well  known  in  Southern 
seas,  where  in  great  troops  it  pursues  the  flying-fish  over  the 
vast  waters,  as  herds  of  wolves  do  the  bison  on  our  Western 
prairies. 

12.  The  sword-fish,f  another  member  of  the  great  Mackerel 
family,  usually  measuring  from  eight  or  ten  to  eighteen  feet 
in  length,  is  an  occasional  frequenter  of  our  waters.  In  1840 
the  New  York  markets  were  abundantly  supplied  with  this 
fish,  whose  flesh  is  preferred  to  halibut  or  sturgeon,  which  in 
flavor  it  somewhat  resembles.  -  The  most  striking  feature  in 
this  fish  is  its  long,  sword-like  muzzle,  with  finely-toothed 
edges,  a  powerful  instrument  which  threatens  every  thing 
that  approaches  it.  More  than  two  thousand  years  ago  the 
poet  Sophocles  thus  alluded  to  it : 

"  What  Fury,  say,  artificers  of  ill, 
Armed  thee,  O  Xiphias,^  with  thy  pointed  bill?' 

•  See  engraving,  pagf;  237. 

t  See  the  representation  of  thia  fish  (Xiphiaa  gladius),  page  237. 


2.36  willson's  fifth  readeb.  Pabt  V. 

The  sword-fish  is  reported  to  have  violent  contests  with  the 
whale,  of  which  the  following,  quoted  from  a  reliable  work,  is 
a  striking  example : 

13.  "One  morning,  as  stated  by  the  captain  of  an  English  vessel,  during 
a  calm,  when  near  the  Western  Isles  of  Scotland,  all  hands  were  called  up 
at  three  in  the  morning  to  witness  a  battle  between  several  fish  called  thrash- 
ers, or  fox-sharks,  and  some  sword-fish  on  the  one  side,  and  an  enormous 
whale  on  the  other.  It  was  in  the  middle  of  summer,  and  the  weather  be- 
ing clear,  and  the  fish  close  to  the  vessel,  we  had  a  fine  opportunity  of  wit- 
nessing the  contest. 

14.  "As  soon  as  the  whale's  back  appeared  above  the  surface,  the  thrash- 
ers, springing  several  yards  into  the  air,  descended  with  great  violence  upon 
the  object  of  their  rancor,*  and  inflicted  upon  him  the  most  severe  slaps  with 
their  tails,  the  sounds  of  which  resembled  the  reports  of  muskets  fired  at  a 
distance.  The  sword-fish,  in  their  turn,  attacked  the  distressed  whale,  stab- 
bing from  beneath,  so  that  the  water  to  a  great  distance  around  was  dyed 
with  blood.  In  this  manner  they  continued  tormenting  and  wounding  him 
for  many  hours,  until  we  lost  sight  of  him ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  in  the 
end  they  completed  his  destruction." 

15.  It  is  probably  by  mistaking  a  vessel  for  one  of  these 
great  monsters  of  the  deep  that  the  sword-fish  has  been  known 
to  try  his  strength  against  a  gallant  ship.  Those  on  board 
have  sometimes,  from  the  violence  of  the  shock,  found  it  dif- 
ficult to  believe  that  they  had  not  struck  some  hidden  rock, 
such  being  the  weight  and  power  of  the  fish ;  and  specimens 
of  ships'  timbers  penetrated  by  the  sword  of  the  fish,  which 
is  sometimes  broken  oflf  and  left  in  the  wood,  are  not  uncom- 
mon. The  poet  Oppian  describes  this  fish  as  attacking  even 
rocks  themselves : ' 

"  struck  by  the  blade,  the  sounding  stone  gives  way, 
And  shatter'd  rocks  their  secret  veins  display." 

16.  As  the  weapon  of  the  sword-fish  is  very  destructive  to 
nets,  the  harpoon  has  always  been  a  favorite  method  for  cap- 
turing large  specimens.  Oppian  further  relates  that  the  sail- 
ors of  the  Tyrrhine  Sea  constructed,  with  this  view,  certain 
light  skiffs,  built  to  resemble  the  sword-fish,  which  the  latter, 
mistaking  for  so  many  new  acquaintances  of  their  own  spe- 
cies, approach  in  foolish  confidence,  and  thus  are  easily  de- 
stroyed by  the  harjDOoners.  We  give  the  poet's  narration, 
without,  however,  vouching  for  its  truth. 

IT.  "  To  fishy  forms  th'  artistic  builders  lend 

Mimetic*  fins,  and  wooden  sword  protend.^ 
With  secrft  joy  each  xiphias  views  hla  friends. 
And  kindly  instincts  aid  man's  treacherous  ends. 
Anon  the  crafty  boatmen,  closing  round, 
The  trident ''  hurl,  and  dv.nl  the  deadly  wound. 
»  The  goaded"  fi.-<h,  experience  bought  too  late, 

Kscapes,  but  oft  still  battles  hard  witlj  fate  ; 
Unvanquish'd,  summons  to  his  instant  aid 
The  oft-tried  prowesss  of  his  timsty  blade ; 


Pakt  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OK   FISHES. 


237 


Selects  some  boat,  and  runs  his  powerful  sword 
Full  many  an  inch  within  the  fatal  board : 
There  holds  no  more,  the  doughtyio  weapon  yields, 
And  crimsons  with  his  blood  the  briny  fields." 

6  Pro-tend',  stretch  forth, 

^  TeT'-dent,  a  spear  with  three  prongn. 

8  Goad'-ed,  pricked  with  the  goad  or  spear. 

9  Pbow'-ess,  bravery ;  skillful  valor. 
10  Dough'-ty  idow'-ty)^  brave  ;  illustrious. 


1  i'-Eie,  a  plant  of  that  name.     See  p.  187. 

2  ^E-Tir'-i-CEK,  a -skillful  workman. 

3  Xiph'-i-A8,  the  Latin  name  of  the  sword- 
*  RlN'-eoE,  inveterate  enmity.  [fish. 
3  Mi-MBT'-ii!,  imitative. 


LESSON   V. — THE   SPINE-BAYED  FISHES   CONTINUED. 
4 


Scale  of  Feet 

1.  Common  Sword-fish,  XipMas  gladius.  2.  Indian  Sword-fish,  Histiophorus  Indiciis. 
3.  Common  Tunny,  Thynnis  vulgaris.  4.  Dolphin  of  the  ancients,  Coryphcena  hippu- 
ris.  5.  Scabbard-fish,  Lejndopus  argyreus.  6.  Wolf-fish  (a  fighting  character,  belonging  to 
the  family  of  the  Gobies),  AnarrJdchus  lupus.    7.  Fishing  Frog,  Lophius  piscatorius. 

1.  The  several  species  of  the  Pilot-fish,  of  which  so  many 
curious  stories  have  been  told,  also  belong  to  the  Mackerel 
family.  The  ancient  naturalists  asserted  that  the  common  pi- 
lot-fish, which  is  a  pretty  little  fish  about  a  foot  in  length,  joins 
company  with  the  tempest-toss'd  bark  of  the  anxious  mariner, 
indicates  to  him  his  nearest  course  to  land,  and  leaves  him  as 
soon  as  it  has  fulfilled  this  kind  ofiice. 

2.  Others,  with  much  reason,  deny  this  assertion,  and  allege 
that  the  pilot,  like  the  shark,  follows  vessels  for  the  purpose 
of  obtaining  a  share  of  the  garbage^  which  may  be  thrown 


238  willson's  fifth  header.  Paut  v. 

overboard.  Certain,  however,  it  is,  that  their  perseverance  in 
this  respect  is  very  singular,  as  is  narrated  in  the  case  of  an 
English  vessel  which  was  accompanied  by  two  pilot-fish  dur- 
ing its  entire  voyage  of  eighty  days  from  Alexandria,  in  the 
Mediterranean,  to  Plymouth. 


The  Pilot-fieh,  NaucrcUea  duetw. 

3.  It  is  a  current  opinion  among  sailors  that  this  fish  acts 
a  pilot's  part  to  the  shark,  and  accompanies  and  befriends  it 
as  opportunity  offers ;  and  certainly  there  is  a  great  amount 
of  evidence  which  goes  to  show  that  there  is  something  very 
much  like  a  confiding  familiarity  between  these  two  compan- 
ions of  the  weary  mariner.  Numerous  well-authenticated  cases 
like  that  which  we  quote  from  Cuvier,  respecting  the  habits 
of  this  fish,  might  be  given. 

4.  With  the  ancients,  however,  as  described  by  their  poets, 
this  little  fish  was  the  faithful  companion  of  the  whale  instead 
of  the  shark ;  and  Oppian  thus  alludes  to  the  services  which 
these  pigmy  pilots  render  to  their  unwieldy  associates : 

''  Bold  in  the  front  the  little  pilot  glides, 
Averts  each  danger,  eveiy  motion  guides; 
With  grateful  joy  the  willing  whales  attend. 
Observe  the  leader,  and  revere  the  friend. 
Where'er  the  little  guardian  leads  the  way, 
The  bulky  tyrants  doubt  not  to  obey, 
Implicit  trust  repose  in  him  alone. 
And  hear  and  see  with  senses  not  their  own." 

Wlien,  and  on  what  grounds,  the  misunderstanding  of  the  pi- 
lot with  his  "fat  friend"  took  place,  history  fails  to  inform  us  ; 
but  that  he  is  now  the  ally  of  the  dreaded  shark,  whom  he 
escorts  in  safety  through  every  sea,  is  matter  of  general  noto- 
riety and  almost  daily  observation.  The  following  is  the  ex- 
tract from  Cuvier : 

5.  ''  Captain  Richards,  of  the  "Royal  Navy,  durinp  his  station  in  the  Med- 
iterranean, saw  on  a  fine  day  a  bhic  shark,  which  followed  the  ship.  After 
a  time  a  shark-hook,  baited  witli  pork,  was  flunj»  out.  The  shark,  attended 
by  four  pilot-fish,  repeatedly  approached  the  bait ;  and  every  time  he  did 
so,  one  of  the  pilots,  which  preceded  him,  was  distinctly  seen  from  the  taff- 
raiP  of  the  ship  to  run  his  snout  against  the  side  of  tiie  shark's  head  to  turn 
it  away. 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES.  239 

6.  "  After  this  had  continued  for  a  time,  the  shark  swam  off  in  the 
wake^  of  the  vessel,  liis  dorsal  fin  being  long  distinctly  visible  above  the  wa- 
ter. When  he  had  gone,  however,  a  considerable  distance,  he  suddenly 
turned  round,  darted  toward  the  vessel,  and  before  the  pilot-fish  could  over- 
take him  and  interpose,  snapped  at  the  bait,  and  was  taken.  In  hoisting 
him  on  board,  one  gf  the  pilot-fish  was  observed  to  cling  to  his  side  until 
he  was  half  above  water,  when  it  fell  off.  All  the  pilots  then  swam  about 
for  a  while,  as  if  in  search  of  their  friend,  with  every  apparent  mark  of  anx- 
iety, and  then  darted  suddenly  into  the  depths  of  the  sea." 

7.  The  dory,  or  John  Dory,  a  fish  of  grotesque  figure  and 

uncommon  colors,  from  twelve 
to  eighteen  niches  in  length,  also 
belongs  to  the  Mackerel  family, 
although  differing  much  in  form 
from  its  kindred.  In  many 
towns  on  the  Mediterranean  it 
is  called  "  St.  Peter's  fish,"  it  be- 
ing alleged  that  it  was  from  the 
mouth  of  a  fish  of  this  species 
that  the  apostle  obtained  the 
coin  to  pay  the  tribute-money. 

The  Dory,  Deusfaber.  and  that  the  imprint  of  his  two 

fingers  marks  the  species  to  the  present  day. 

8.  The  fish  generally  known  as  the  "dolphin  of  the  sail- 
ors," and  celebrated  by  the  poets  for  its  resplendent  hues, 
"  changing  as  it  dies,"  also  belongs  to  the  famous  Mackerel 
family.  It  is  an  active,  voracious  animal,  greedily  pursuing 
the  flying-fish,  which  constitute  its  favorite  food.  When  in 
eager  pursuit  of  its  prey,  the  undulations  of  its  large  dorsal 
fin  reflect  its  varied  markings  of  silvery  blue  and  golden  yel- 
low with  unwonted  brilliancy.  A  scene  at  sea,  in  which  a 
shoal  of  these  fish  are  observed  sporting  in  their  native  eli> 
ment,  and  a  whale  making  his  appearance  near  by,  is  thus 
beautifully  described  by  the  poet  Montgomery  : 

9.  "  Next  on  the  surge, 
A  shoal  of  dolphins,  tumbling  in  wild  glee, 

Glowed  with  such  orient*  tnits,  they  might  have  beea 

The  rainbow's  offspring,  when  it  met  the  ocean. 

While  yet  in  ecstasy  I  hung  o'er  these, 

With  every  motion  poiiring  out  fresh  beauties, 

As  though  tlie  conscious  colors  came  and  went 

At  pleasure,  glorying  in  their  subtle  changes  — 

Enormous  o'er  the  flood,  Leviathan 

Looked  forth,  and  from  his  roaring  nostrils  sent 

Two  fountains  to  the  sky,  then  plunged  amain 

In  headlong  pastime  through  the  closing  gulf." 

10.  Of  the  family  of  the  ribbon-shaped  fish,  which  contains 
about  thirty  known  species,  we  have  given,  in  the  engraving 
at  the  head  of  this  lesson,  only  one  specimen,  the  scabbard- 


240  willson's  fifth  eeadee.  Pakt  v. 

fish.     Concerning  this  family  we  quote  from  an  eminent  En- 
ghsh  naturalist,  Mr.  Swainson,  the  following  remarks : 

11.  "This  family  contains  the  most  singular  and  extraordinary  fishes 
in  creation.  The  form  of  the  body,  when  compared  to  fishes  better  known, 
is  much  like  that  of  an  eel,  the  length  being  in  the  same  proportion  to  the 
breadth ;  but  then  it  is  generally  so  much  compressed  that  these  creatures 
have  acquired  the  popular  name  of  ribhon-fish,  lath,  or  deal-fish.  The  body, 
indeed,  is  often  not  thicker,  except  in  its  middle,  than  a  sword ;  and  as  it  is 
of  the  richest  silver  in  brightness,  and  of  great  length,  the  undulating  mo- 
tion of  these  fishes  in  the  sea  must  be  resplendent  and  beautiful  beyond 
measure.  But  these  wonders  of  the  mighty  deep  are  almost  hidden  from 
the  eye  of  man.  These  meteoric  fishes  appear  to  live  in  the  greatest  depths ; 
and  it  is  only  at  long  intervals,  and  after  a  succession  of  tempests,  that  a 
solitary  individual  is  cast  upon  the  shore  with  its  delicate  body  torn  and 
mutilated  on  the  rocks." 

12.  Of  the  family  of  the  Mullets,  which  differ  from  the  Sur- 
mullets already  described,  and  of  the  family  of  the  Blennies 
or  Gobies,  which  are  mostly  small  fish,  we  have  many  species 
on  our  coasts.  Two  of  the  blennies  are  pictured  on  page  223. 
Nature  has  endowed  the  mullets  with  a  power  which  often 
aids  their  escape  from  the  nets  of  the  fisherman,  and  which 
is  thus  alluded  to  by  the  poet  Oppian : 

*♦  The  mullet,  when  encircling  seines^  inclose, 
The  fatal  threads  and  treacherous  bosom  knows. 
Instant  he  rallies  all  his  vigorous  powers, 
And  faithful  aid  of  every  name  implores  ; 
O'er  battlement  of  cork  up-darting  flies, 
And  finds  from  air  th'  escape  which  sea  denies." 

When  one  takes  the  leap,  the  others,  like  sheep,  follow  instant- 
ly in  succession. 

13.  The  most  grotesque-looking  fishes  of  all  that  belong  to 
the  spine-rayed  division  are  those  which  are  embraced  in  the 
family  of  the  Lophidse.  Here  is  found  the  famous  fishing-frog, 
or  angler,  whose  boldness  and  voracity,  and  peculiar  modes 
of  taking  its  prey,  to  say  nothing  of  its  uncouth  form,  have 
rendered  it  perhaps  more  celebrated  than  any  other  fish  of 
equal  size. 

14.  The  angler  is  said  to  fish  both  with  the  net  and  with 
the  line,  luring^  its  victims  to  destruction  by  means  of  the  long 
thread-like  streamers  or  feelers  which  issue  from  the  top  of 
its  enormous  head,  and  capturing  them  in  the  great  sacs  con- 
nected with  its  mouth  and  gills.  The  following  is  said  to  be 
the  mode  of  procedure.  The  angler,  lying  close  to  the  bot- 
tom, stirs  up  the  sand  or  mud  by  means  of  its  ventral  and 
pectoral  fins ;  hidden  by  the  obscurity  thus  produced,  it  ele- 
vates its  feelers,  moves  them  in  various  directions  by  way  of 
attracting  as  a  bait,  and  then  by  a  rapid  movement  seizes  the 
fish  which  approach  to  examine  them. 


Pakt  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OB  FISHES. 


241 


Scale  of  Inchet. 

1.  Blue-striped  Wrasse,  Labrus  mixtus.     2.  Trumpet-fish,  Sea-snipe,  or  Bellows-fish, 
Centriscus  scolopax.    3.  American  Tautog,  Tautoga  Aviencana. 

15.  The  family  of  the  Wrasses,  or  Rock-fish,  includes  our 
common  bergalls,  the  New  York  tautog  or  common  black- 
fish,  and  those  fancy-colored  species  known  as  "old  wives  of 
the  sea."  Of  the  latter  there  are  several  varieties,  such  as 
the  red  old  wife,  the  blue  old  wife,  and  the  yellow  old  wife, 
which  are  so  named  in  accordance  with  their  prevailing  col- 
ors. The  thick  pouting  lips  of  the  fish  of  this  family  are  their 
most  striking  characteristic.  The  Wrasses  were  known  to 
the  poet  Oppian,  who  describes  the  beds  of  sea-weed  as  their 
favorite  places  of  resort : 

"  And  there  thick  beds  of  mossy  verdure  grow — 
Sea-grass,  and  spreading  wrack  are  seen  :  below, 
Gay  rainbow-fish,  and  sable  wrasse  resort." 

16.  The  last  family  that  we  have  to  notice  in  the  spine- 
rayed  division  is  that  of  the  Trumpet  fishes,  which  are  distin- 
guished by  their  long  tubular  beak,  through  which  it  is  be- 
lieved they  draw  their  food  as  water  is  drawn  up  the  pipe  of 
a  syringe.  The  above  drawing  of  this  singular  fish  will  give 
a  better  idea  of  it  than  any  detailed  description. 

1  Gaeb'-age,  waste  meat ;  any  thing  of  no 
value 


value. 

2  Tinr'-BAiL,  the  uppermost  rail  of  a  ship's 

ntpm 


3  Wake,  track  of  a  vessel  in  the  water. 
*  o'-Ei-ENT  (Eastern),  bright ;  shining. 
5  Seine  (seen;,  a  large  net  for  taking  fish. 
''  LCr'-ing,  enticing. 


242 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Pakt  v. 


SECOND  CLASS  OF  FISHES. 

SOFT-RAYED  BONY  FISHES.     {Malacopterygii.)* 
[Carp,  Pike,  Cat-fi^h,  Salmon  and  Trout,  and  Herring  and  Pilchard  Families.] 


Scale  of  Inchet  -^ 

The  Cabp  Family.— 1.  Golden  Carp,  or  Gold-fish,  Ci/jynmis  auratuff.  2.  The  Roach, 
Leuciscxis  rutilus.  3.  The  Loach,  or  Beardie,  Cobitis  barbafvla.  4.  The  Tench,  7'inea 
vnlqaris.  5.  The  Barbel,  Barhui  mdrjarin.  6.  New  York  Sliiner,  Ciijyrinvs  crysoleticas. 
7.  Common  Carp,  Cyprinus  carpis.  8.  Common  New  York  Sucker,  Catostomue  communU. 

LESSON   VI. SOFT-EAYED    BONY   FISHES   WITH   ABDOMINAL 

VENTRAL   FINS. 

1.  The  carps  may  be  placed  at  the  head  of  the  sofl-rayed 
division.  They  are  the  least  carnivorous^  of  all  fishes,  and 
embrace,  besides  the  common  carp  and  its  kindred,  the  sev- 
eral species  of  the  barbel,  the  gudgeon,  the  tench,  the  roach, 
the  dace  and  shiners,  the  minnows,  the  loach,  and  the  Amer- 
ican suckers.  They  are  the  most  abundant  fish  in  the  fresh- 
water streams  of  Europe  and  America. 

2.  The  common  carp,  which  has  been  called  the  water-fox 
on  account  of  his  cunning,  is  a  European  fish,  which  has  been 
naturalized  in  American  waters.     Another  species,  originally 

•  Mal-a-oop-tkh-yiV-ii,  from  two  Greek  words,  nnalakos^  "  Poft,"  and  ptcrvgioix^  a  little 
wing  or  ''^  fin"— meaning  tho  (!  fi«h  which  are  soft-finned  or  Rofl-raitad.  The  fin  rnvK  io 
these  fish  arc  compofod  of  bony  piccea  united  by  means  of  nirdliifjr^  which  renders  the  fln- 
rays  much  more  flexible  than  ia  feen  in  the  long  single  spines  of  "the  cla.*^  fir,-*t  described. 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OK  FISHES.  243 

brought  from  a  mountain  lake  in  China,  but  now  domesti- 
cated in  almost  every  country  of  the  Old  and  the  New  World, 
is  the  gold-fish — those  beautiful  pets  and  playthings  which 
have  attracted  so  much  attention  and  admiration  on  account 
of  the  exceeding  brilliancy  of  their  coloring.  They  are  usual- 
ly kept  in  glass  globes  filled  with  water,  where  their  golden 
hues  are  reflected  to  the  best  advantage.  Moore,  in  his  Lal- 
lah  Rookh,  alludes  to  them  in  the  following  lines: 

"  On  one  side,  gleaming  with  a  sudden  grace 
Through  Avater,  brilliant  as  the  crystal  vase 
In  which  it  undulates,  small  fishes  shine, 
like  golden  ingots^  from  a  fairy  mine." 

3.  And  very  beautiful  is  the  allusion  which  the  poet  Words- 
worth makes  to  the  crystal  vase  in  which  they  are  usually 
kept; 

"  Type  of  the  sunny  human  breast 
^  Is  your  transparent  cell, 

Where  fear  is  but  a  transient  guest, 

Nor  sullen  humors^  dwell ; 
Where,  sensitive  of  eveiy  ray 
That  smites  this  tiny*  sea, 
Your  scaly  panopliess  repay 
The  loan  with  usury." 

4.  The  Chinese  ladies  pay  great  attention  to  the  rearing  of 
these  fish,  having  the  richest  glass  vessels  prepared  for  them 
in  their  apartments,  and  small  ornamental  ponds  and  basins 
in  their  gardens.  If  they  are  obliged  to  transport  them  from 
one  vessel  to  another,  they  take  great  care  not  to  touch  them 
with  the  hand,  and  not  to  remove  them  entirely  from  the  wa- 
ter. In  this  country  they  are  usually  fed  with  crumbs  of 
bread,  and  yolks  of  eggs  boiled  hard  and  reduced  to  powder, 
and  occasionally  they  should  be  supplied  with  a  bed  of  moss 
or  turf.  A  writer,  in  the  following  lines,  seems  to  doubt  the 
justice  of  making  them  prisoners  for  our  pleasure : 

6.  "  I  ask  what  warrant  fix'd  them  (like  a  spell 

Of  witchcraft,  fix'd  them)  in  the  crystal  cell ; 
To  wheel,  with  languid  motion,  round  and  round, 
Beautiful,  yet  in  mournful  durance^  bound^  ? 
Their  peace,  perhaps,  our  slightest  footstep  marr'd*, 
Or  their  quick  sense  our  sweetest  music  jarr'd^ ; 
And  whither  could  they  dart,  if  seized  with  fear^  ? 
No  sheltering  stone',  no  tangled  root  was  near\ 
When  fire  or  taper  ceased  to  cheer  the  room', 
They  wore  away  the  night  in  starless  gloom^ ; 
And  when  the  sun  first  dawned  upon  the  streams', 
How  faint  their  portion  of  its  vital  beams^ ! 
Thus,  and  unable  to  complain,  they  fared. 
While  not  one  joy  of  ours  by  them  was  shared." 

6.  The  golden  carp,  or  gold-fish,  vary  not  only  in  color,  but 
in  the  shape,  size,  and  number  of  their  fins  also.  In  color  they 
exhibit  almost  every  possible  shade  or  combination  of  silver, 
brilliant  orange,  and  purple.    Some  have  dorsal  fins  extending 


244  WILLSON*S   FIFTH   READER.  Part  V. 

more  than  half  the  length  of  the  back ;  others  have  dorsal  fins 
of  five  or  six  rays  only ;  and  still  greater  variations  sometimes 
are  seen  in  other  fins.  These  changes  are  supposed  to  have 
been  produced  by  domestication. 

7.  The  European  tench,  which  is  a  fish  from  twelve  to 
eighteen  inches  in  length,  also  belongs  to  the  Carp  family.  It 
loves  muddy  waters,  is  exceedingly  tenacious  of  life,  and  has 
the  reputation,  among  fishermen,  of  being  the  physician  of 
fishes.  In  Germany  it  is  called  the  doctor-fish.  Even  tbe 
pike,  the  tyrant  of  the  streams,  is  said  never  to  prey  upon  the 
tench,  which  is  supposed  to  exert  his  healing  powers  by  rub- 
bing against  the  sides  of  the  sick  or  wounded.  Of  the  pike  it 
has  been  written ; 

"  The  tench  he  spares ; 
For  when  by  wounds  distress' d,  or  sore  diseaae, 

He  courts  the  ealutaiy  fish  for  ease  ;  ^ 

Close  to  liis  i^cales  the  kind  physician  glides, 
And  sweats  the  healing  balsam  from  his  sides." 

8.  Some  of  the  fish  of  the  Carp  family,  such  as  the  roach, 
dace,  and  shiners,  have  scales  of  a  very  peculiar  silvery  lustre, 
whose  brilliancy  is  owing  to  a  silvery  pigment'^  on  the  inner 
surface  of  the  scales.  The  French  have  taken  advantage  of 
the  coloring  matter  thus  afiforded  to  imitate  Oriental  pearls, 
and  have  established  extensive  manufactories  of  "patent 
pearls,"  that  are  used  for  beads,  necklaces,  ear-drops,  and 
other  ornaments.  At  present  these  artificial  pearls  are  con- 
fined chiefly  to  ornaments  attached  to  combs,  or  small  beads 
arranged  with  flowers  for  head-dresses. 

9.  In  the  Pike  family,  the  next  in  order  to  the  Carps,  the 
most  important  are  the  common  pike  or  pickerel,  the  gar-fish, 
the  saury  pike,  and  the  common  flying-fish.  The  fishes  of  this 
family  are  voracious ;  in  form  they  are  long  and  slender,  and 
the  single  dorsal  fin  is  usually  far  back  on  the  body.  The  epi- 
thets which  have  been  applied  to  the  pike,  such  as  the  "  fresh- 
water shark,"  and  the  "  tyrant  of  fresh  waters,"  express  its 
well-marked  and  most  striking  trait.  It  has  formidable  rows 
of  teeth  in  both  jaws  ;  and  not  only  fish,  but  also  frogs,  water- 
rats,  and  even  water-hens  and  other  fowl,  often  become  its 
prey. 

1 0.  The  pike  is  believed  to  be  the  only  fresh- water  fish  which 
is  undoubtedly  common  to  the  Eastern  and  Western  conti- 
nents ;  yet  in  America  it  is  said  to  be  confined  to  the  eastern 
side  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  gar-fish  or  sea-pike,  and 
the  saury  pike,  both  salt-water  fish,  are  more  slender  tlian  the 
common  pike.     The  former  is  a  very  active  and  playful  fish  : 


Part  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES. 


245 


Scale  of  Jnchea. 

The  Pike  Family.— 1.  Saury  Pike,  Scomber-esox  saurus.  2.  Common  Pike,  Esox  lu- 
citis.  3.  Common  Gar-fish,  Belone  vulgaris.  4.  Guiana  Gar-fish,  BeUme  Quianensis.  5. 
Common  Flying-fish,  Exoeilus  volitans. 

it  swims  near  the  surface ;  and  its  vivacity  is  such  that  it  will 
for  a  long  time  play  about  a  floating  straw,  and  leap  over  it 
many  times  in  succession. 

11.  A  modern  Italian  poet  thus  writes  of  the  gar-fish,  and 
of  a  curious  method  of  capturing  them  which  was  said  to  be 
employed  successfully  at  Naples : 

*'  Burnish' d  with  blue,  and  bright  as  damask  steel. 
Behold  the  belone,^  with  pointed  bill 
All  fringed  with  teeth  :  no  gi-eedier  fish  than  they 
E'er  broke  in  serrieds  lines  our  foaming  bay. 
Soon  as  the  practiced  crew  this  frolic  throng 
Behold  advancing  rapidly  along. 
Adjusting  swift  a  tendon  to  the  line, 
They  throw,  then  drag  it  glistening  through  the  brine. 
Quickly  the  lure  the  snapping  fish  pursue  : 
The  gristle  chai-ms,  but  soon  its  charms  they  rue. 
Fix'd  by  the  teeth  to  that  tough  barbless  bait. 
The  struggling  suicides  succumbi"  to  fate." 

12.  The  flying-fish,  of  which  there  are  several  species,  are 
easily  distinguished  by  the  excessive  size  of  their  pectoral 
fins,  which  are  sufiiciently  large  to  support  them  in  the  air 
for  a  few  moments.  But  these  fish  do  not  in  reality  fly;  it 
is  only  after  a  rapid  course  of  swimming  that  they  can  leap 
into  the  air :  then  they  do  not  flap  their  fins,  and  they  never 
raise  themselves  above  the  height  to  which  they  first  spring. 


246 


will^on's  fifth  reader. 


Part  V. 


Their  most  usual  height  of  flight  above  the  surface  of  the 
water  is  only  two  or  three  feet ;  but  the  larger  si^ecies  some- 
times spring  fifteen  or  twenty  feet,  and  it  is  not  unfrequent 
for  whole  shoals  of  them  to  fall  on  board  of  ships  that  navi- 
gate the  seas  of  warm  climates. 

13.  The  flying-fish  are  usually  regarded  with  much  interest 
by  the  mariner  in  tropical  seas,  as  they  are  sometimes  the 
only  objects  that  for  hours,  and  even  days,  break  in  upon  the 
monotony^ ^  of  the  scene.  Their  sudden  darting  upon  the 
sight,  and  as  sudden  departure,  like  flashes  of  momentary 
light,  are  thus  described  by  the  poet  Montgomery : 

"Yet  while  I  look'd, 
A  joyous  creature  vaulted  throtif^h  the  air — 
The  aspiring  fish  that  fain  would  be  a  bird, 
On  long,  light  wings,  that  flung  a  diamond-shower 
Of  dew-drops  round  it-*  evanescent'^  form. 
Sprang  into  light,  and  instantly  descended," 

14.  In  its  own  element  the  flying-fish  is  perpetually  harass- 
ed by  the  dorados,  tunny,  bonito,  and  other  fishes  of  prey. 
If  it  endeavors  to  avoid  them  by  having  recourse  to  the  air, 
it  either  meets  its  fate  from  the  gulls  or  the  albatross  which 
are  constantly  on  the  alert  to  seize  it,  or  it  is  forced  down 
again  into  the  mouths  of  other  enemies  who  keep  pace  below 
with  its  aerial  excursion.     Yet  the  flying-fishes  themselves 


ScaU  of  Inckti. 

Tira  Cat-fish  Family— 1.  Brown  Cat-dBh,  Pimelodua  ptiUus.  2.  Common  Cat-fieh, 
or  Homed  Pout,  Piynclodua  rntiis. 

Tlie  Cat-fish  family  embraces  the  numerous  fresh-water  fish  which  are  known  in  this 
country  by  the  common  names  of  cat-fish,  horned  pouts,  and  bull-heads.  They  mostly 
Inhabit  muddy  streams  and  lakes,  are  destitute  of  scales,  sluggish  iu  their  movements, 
and,  like  the  famous  fishing-frog  or  angler,  to  which  they  boar  some  resemblance,  depend 
more  upon  stratnginn  than  swiftness  to  seize  their  prey.  The  different  specie*  vary  in 
length  from  three  or  four  inches  to  four  feet;  and  some  are  said  to  have  b.-rn  raiight  in 
the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  rivers  measuring  eight  (N>t  in  length. 


Part  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES. 


247 


feed  on  smaller  fish,  and  these  latter  on  those  still  below 
them ;  and  thus,  in  one  continued  round  of  rapacity,  the  in- 
habitants of  the  deep  prey  upon  each  other. 


1  €ae-nTv'-o-eou8,  feeding  on  flesh. 

2  in'-got,  an  unwrouglit  bar  of  gold. 

3  HO '-MOR,  fancy;  caprice. 

4  Ti'-NY  or  Tin'-y,  very  gmall ;  little. 

5  Pan'-o-ply,  defensive  armor. 

6  DtJB'-ANCE,  imprisonment. 

7  PTo'-MENT,  a  puint. 


8  Bel'-o-ne,  Latin  name  for  this  fish, 

9  Skk'-kied  isSr'-rid)^  close  ;  crowded, 
to  Su'G-cumb',  yield  ;  submit  to. 

ti  Mo-not'-o-ny,  uniformity ;  want  of  va- 
riety. 

12  Ev-a-nes'-oent,  fleeting ;  quickly  pass- 
ing away. 


LESSON    VII. — TO   THE   FLYING-EISH. 

1 .  When  I  have  seen  thy  snow-white  wing 
From  the  blue  wave  at  evening  spring', 
And  show  those  scales  of  silvery  white, 
So  gayly  to  the  eye  of  light', 

As  if  thy  frame  were  formed  to  rise, 
And  live  amid  the  glorious  skies', 
Oh,  it  has  made  me  proudly  feel 
How  like  thy  wing's  impatient  zeal 
Is  the  pure  souV,  that  rests  not,  pent 
Within  this  world's  gross  element^ 
But  takes  the  wing  that  God  has  given'. 
And  rises  into  light  and  heaven^ ! 

2.  But  when  I  see  that  wing  so  bright 
Grow  languid  with  a  moment's  flight, 
Attempt  the  paths  of  air  in  vain," 
And  sink  into  the  wave  again', 
Alas^ !  the  flattering  pride  is  o'er' ; 
Like  thee',  a  while\  the  soul'  may  soar\ 
But  erring  man  must  blush  to  think, 
Like  thee',  again\  the  soul'  may  sink' ! 

3.  O  Virtue^ !  when  thy  clime  I  seek'. 
Let  not  my  spirit's  flight  be  weak' ; 
Let  me  not,  like  this  feeble  thing, 
With  brine  still  dropping  from  its  wing,' 
Just  sparkle  in  the  solar  glow, 

And  plunge  again  to  depths  below' ; 

But,  when  I  leave  the  grosser  throng 

With  whom  my  soul  hath  dwelt  so  long', 

Let  me,  in  that  aspiring  day. 

Cast  every  lingering  stain  away\ 

And,  panting  for  thy  purer  air', 

Fly  up'  at  once\  and  fix'  me  there^ !— Moore. 


248 


WLLLSON'S   FIFl'H   READEli. 


Part  V, 


LESSON   Yin. — SOFT-EATED  BONY   FISHES,  WITH   ABDOMIN- 
AL VENTRAL  FINS — Continued. 

[Salmon  and  Trout,  and  Herring  and  Pilchard  Families.] 


8eaU  of  Inehe*. 


Salmon  and  Tbout  Family — 1.  White-fish  of  the  Lakes,  Coregronws  albus.  2.  Com- 
mon Sea  Salmon,  Salmo  salar.  3.  New  York  Brook  Trout,  Salmo  /ontinaMs.  4.  Trout- 
let.    5,  Great  Lake  Trout  of  Europe,  Salmo  fcrox, 

1.  Our  remaining  notices  of  this  order  of  the  bony  fishes 
embrace  the  Salmon  and  Trout,  and  the  Herring  and  Pilchard 
families.  Of  all  the  fresh-water  fishes  of  northern  latitudes, 
those  comprising  the  salmon  and  trout  family  are*the  most 
important  in  an  economical  point  of  view.  To  the  naturalist, 
also,  they  are  full  of  interest,  as  the  history  of  many  of  them 
is  chiefly  curious ;  while  with  the  angler  many  of  the  species 
are  preferred  to  every  other  kind  of  fish  as  objects  on  which 
to  exercise  his  skill. 

2.  The  common  sea  salmon,  which  is  the  largest  species  of 
the  family,  is  both  a  salt-water  and  a  fresh-water  fish.  They 
invariably  breed  in  fresh  water,  while  they  find  their  most  nu- 
tritious food,  and  other  conditions  most  favorable  to  their 
growth  and  general  health,  in  salt  water.  They  begin  to  en- 
ter rivers  in  spring,  and  continue  ascending  during  the  sum- 
mer, but  chiefly  when  the  rivers  are  swollen  by  rains,  when 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES.  249 

they  generally  advance  with  some  rapidity,  often,  it  is  sup- 
posed, at  the  rate  of  twenty-five  miles  a  day. 

3.  So  strong  is,  the  impulse  that  urges  these  fish  on,  that 
they  overcome  obstacles  which,  to  an  animal  so  formed,  we 
would  be  inclined  to  pronounce  insurmountable.  They  fre- 
quently make  perpendicular  leaps  to  the  height  of  twelve  or 
fourteen  feet,  thus  surmounting  waterfalls  and  other  obsta- 
cles which  the  rocky  bed  of  a  river  often  presents  to  their 
progress.  By  the  time  they  reach  the  upper  and  shallow  por- 
tions of  the  river,  these  fish  have  assumed  their  most  brilliant 
hues.  Selecting  some  gravelly  bottom,  they  then  deposit 
their  spawn,  and  cover  it  with  a  thin  layer  of  sand. 

4.  With  this  the  parental  duties  of  the  fish  cease;  they  lose 
their  bright  colors,  become  lean  and  emaciated,  and,  after  re- 
posing a  while  in  the  depths  of  some  neighboring  pool,  thej'^ 
commence  their  progress  down  the  river  for  the  purpose  of 
regaining  the  ocean,  where  they  are  speedily  invigorated,  and 
restored  to  their  former  condition.  In  -England  the  spawn- 
ing season  is  from  October  to  the  end  of  February ;  but  the 
salmon  which  ascend  the  St.  Lawrence  appear  in  Lake  Onta- 
rio in  April,  and  leave  it  in  October  or  November. 

5.  The  eggs  or  spawn  of  the  salmon  continue  under  the 
sand  where  deposited,  before  hatching,  in  general  from  a  hund- 
red to  a  hundred  and  forty  days.  The  first  migration^  of  the 
young  fish  to  the  sea  usually  takes  place  late  in  the  spring  of 
their  second  year.  They  are  then  called  salmon-smelts,*  or 
samlets.  On  reaching  the  mouth  of  the  river,  they  remain 
for  a  time  where  the  water  is  brackish^  by  the  mixture  of 
salt-water,  and,  thus  prepared  for  the  change,  they  launch  out 
into  the  sea,  where  they  rapidly  increase  in  size  and  vigor. 

6.  The  common  brook  trout  is  so  variable,  both  in  color 
and  markings,  that  scarcely  two  individuals  from  separate  lo- 
calities will  answer  to  the  same  description.  It  is  said  that 
in  England — and  no  doubt  the  same  is  true  in  this  country — 
in  lakes  and  rivers  fed  by  dark  waters  from  boggy  moors, 
the  tints  become  very  deep,  the  back  appearing  almost  black, 
and  the  sides  and  belly  of  an  intense  yellow,  with  the  spots 
very  large.  The  colors  are  believed  to  accommodate  them- 
selves to  the  tint  of  the  water,  and  to  the  prevailing  tone  of 
the  bottom,  whether  of  rock  or  gravel,  or  softer  substance ; 
but,  whatever  may  be  the  cause  of  this  singular  adaptation, 

•  The  true  smelts  are  a  small  fish  of  the  Salmon  family,  five  or  six  inches  in  length,  but 
they  are  not  the  young  of  the  salmon.  They  are  taken  in  large  quantities  along  our  At- 
lantic coast  from  New  Jersey  to  Labrador,  and  are  often  sold  by  measure. 

L2 


^50  willson's  fifth  beader.  Part  v. 

there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  contributes  to  the  concealment 
and  safety  of  the  fish,  just  as  we  often  observe,  in  land  ani- 
mals, an  assimilation  of  color  to  the  places  they  frequent. 


Scale  of  Inekit. 

IIrrbtno  and  Pilohaed  Family. — 1.  The  Mossbonker,  or  Hard-head,  ^/osa  menhaden 
(very  abundant  on  the  shores  of  Long  Island  and  Mass.  It  is  seldom  eaten),  2.  The 
Pilchard,  Clupea  pilchxtrdus.  3.  The  Anchovy,  Engraulia  engrasicolu8.  4.  American 
Shad,  Alosa  prcestaMlli.    5.  The  Herring,  Clupea  harengus. 

1.  The  Herring  and  Pilchard  family  embraces  several  vari- 
eties of  the  herring,  the  pilchard,  the  common  shad,  and  the 
anchovy  of  the  Mediterranean.  The  common  herring  of  the 
Atlantic,  so  well  known  as  an  article  of  food,  is  taken  in  vast 
quantities  in  drift  nets,  in  the  meshes  of  which  it  becomes  en- 
tangled in  attempting  to  pass  through  them.  Formerly  the 
herring  were  supposed  to  descend  in  a  mighty  army,  early  in 
the  season,  from  the  Arctic  Seas,  and  then  to  divide  and  spread 
over  the  English  coasts ;  but  it  is  now  believed  that  they  win- 
ter in  the  deep  water  of  the  northern  temperate  regions,  and 
only  seek  the  shores  and  shallow  portions  of  the  ocean  for  the 
purpose  of  depositing  their  spawn. 

8.  The  common  American  shad,  which  differs  only  in  tri- 
fling particulars  from  what  is  known  as  the  allice  shad  of  Eu- 
rope, is  a  beautiful  and  valuable  fish,  from  one  to  two  feet  in 
length.  It  enters  our  rivers  from  the  sea  early  in  the  season 
to  deposit  its  spawn,  and,  unlike  most  of  the  family  to  which 
it  belongs,  comes  from  the  southern  instead  of  the  northern 
seas.  In  the  rivers  of  Georgia  and  the  Carolinas  it  usually 
makes  its  appearance  in  January  or  February ;  in  March  it 
arrives  at  Norfolk ;  at  New  York,  early  in  April ;  and  on  the 
coasts  of  New  Enjjland  still  later.    These  fish  ascend  the  Hud- 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES.  251 

son  one  hundred  and  fifty  m.iles  to  deposit  their  spawn,  and 
descend  in  the  latter  part  of  May,  when  they  are  called  hack 
shad^  and  are  then  lean,  and  scarcely  fit  to  be  eaten.  They 
were  formerly  taken  in  immense  quantities,  but  their  numbers 
are  gradually  diminishing. 

9.  The  anchovy,  which  is  a  small  fish  from  four  to  five  inch- 
es in  length,  chiefly  distinguished  from  the  herrings  by  hav- 
ing the  head  pointed,  the  upper  jaw  the  longest,  and  the  mouth 
deeply  divided,  is  abundant  in  the  Mediterranean,  and  was 
well  known  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  by  whom  the  liquor 
prepared  from  it  Avas  held  in  high  estimation.  It  is  pickled 
in  large  quantities  for  exportation,  and  the  well-known  ancho- 
vy sauce,  used  for  seasoning,  is  prepared  from  it. 

1  Mi-GEl'-TiON,  removal.  |  2  Beack'-isu,  saltish. 


LES.    IX. — SOPT-EAYED    BONY    FISHES,  WITH    THE    VENTRAL 

FINS  BENEATH  THE  PECTORALS:  Called  Suh-hracMals. 

[The  families  of  the  Cod,  Flat-fish,  and  Salt-water  Suckers.] 

1 


iSeo/«  of  Inches, 

Tira  Cod  Family. — 1.  Three-bearded  Reckling,  or  Fea-loche,  Motella  McirraM.  2. 
The  Torsk,  Brosmius  milgaris.  3.  The  Haddock,  Morrhuu  cer/lefinun.  4  Coal-fish,  Mer- 
lavgus  carhonarius.  5.  The  Ling,  Lota  molva.  6.  Five-bearded  Rockling,  Motella  quin- 
quedrrata.  7.  The  Whiting,  Merlangris  vulgaris.  8.  Great  Forked  Hake,  Phycis  furca- 
tus.    9.  Common  Cod,  Morrhua  vulgaris. 

The  second  division  of  the  soft-raved  bonv  fishes  consists 


252  WILLSON's  PIEXH  reader.  Part  V. 

of  the  Cod  family,  the  family  of  the  Flat-fish,  and  the  two 
families  of  the  salt-water  Suckers. 

1.   THE  COD  FAMILY.       (GacUdCB.) 

1.  At  the  head  of  the  Cod  family  is  the  common  cod,  which 
is  the  largest,  best  known,  and  most  valuable  member  of  it. 
It  is  found  universally  in  European  Seas,  from  the  coast  of 
Spain  to  Iceland;  and  on  the  eastern  American  coast,  and 
among  its  numerous  islands,  northward  from  the  latitude  of 
New  York,  it  is  even  still  more  abundant.  The  Grand  Banks 
of  Newfoundland,  reaching  six  hundred  miles  in  length,  seem 
to  be  literally  covered  with  cod-fish,  which  are  taken  in  vast 
quantities  during  the  fishing  season,  which  opens  at  the  be- 
ginning of  June,  and  lasts  till  about  the  middle  of  October. 
The  cod  are  taken  in  deep  water  by  hooks,  usually  baited  with 
pork,  sea-fowl,  or  shell-fish ;  and  from  two  hundred  to  five 
hundred  are  often  caught  by  one  man  in  a  single  day.  Not- 
withstanding the  vast  quantities  taken — estimated  at  forty 
millions  of  fish  annually — their  numbers  do  not  seem  to  di- 
minish. 

2.  The  haddock  and  the  whiting,  both  fish  of  the  Cod  fami- 
ly, are  almost  as  generally  known  as  the  common  cod,  and  in 
Europe  are  considered  nearly  equal  to  the  cod  in  value,  but 
are  not  so  highly  esteemed  in  this  country.  The  coal-fish,  the 
ling,  the  rocklings,  the  torsk,  and  the  great  forked  hake,  are 
additional  members  of  the  same  family,  which  we  have  repre- 
sented in  the  engraving. 

•A  CHARADE^  ON— Cot/. 

Cut  oflF  my  head,  and  singular  I  act ; 

Cut  off  niy  tail,  and  plural  I  appear; 
Cut  off  my  tail  and  head — oh  !  wondrous  fact, 

Although  my  middle's  left,  there's  nothing  here. 
What  is  my  head  cut  off  ?  a  sounding  sea. 

What  is  my  tail  cut  off  ?  a  flowing  river. 
Far  in  the  oce^u  depths  I  fearless  play  ; 

Giver  of  sweetest  sounds,  yet  mute  forever. 

2.  FAiknLY  OF  THE  FLAT-FiSTi.     (PleiironccticlcB.) 

"  Flat-fish,  with  eyes  distorted,  square,  ovoid,  rhomboid,  long, 
Some  cased  in  mail,  some  slippi'ry-bnck'd,  the  feeble  and  the  strong." 

•In  one  of  Mr.  Yarrell's  volumes  we  find  the  following  de- 
scription of  the  flat-fish,  the  prominent  species  of  which  we 
have  exhibited  in  the  annexed  engraving : 

1.  "The  character  and  appearance  of  the  various  species  of  flat-fish  are 
so  peculiar  as  to  claim  particular  notice.  The  want  of  symmetry  in  the 
form  of  the  head  ;  both  eyes  ])lnced  on  the  same  side,  one  higher  than  tlio 
other,  frequently  not  in  the  same  vertical  line,  and  often  unequal  in  size ; 
the  position  of  the  mouth  ;  the  inequnlity  of  tho  two  sides  of  tlif  liond.  rm.l 


Part  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES. 


253 


Scale  of  Inches. 

Flat-pish  Family.— 1.  The  Turbot,  Rhombus  maxirmis.  2.  Oblong  Flounder,  Platesm 
oblonga.  3.  The  Plaice,  Platessa  vulgaris  (similar  in  form  to  the  Rusty  Dab  of  oui*  coaats). 
4.  The  Halibut,  Hippoglossus  vulgaris.    5.  Common  Sole,  Solea  vulgaris. 

the  frequent  want  of  unifonnity  in  those  fins  that  are  in  pairs,  the  pectoral 
and  ventral  fins  of  the  under  or  white  side  being  in  some  species  smaller 
than  those  of  the  upper ;  and  the  whole  of  the  color  of  the  fish  confined  to 
one  side,  while  the  other  side  remains  perfectly  white,  produce  a  grotesque^ 
appearance;  yet  a  little  consideration  will  prove  that  these  various  and 
seemingly  obvious  anomalies^  are  perfectly  in  harmony  with  that  station  in 
nature  which  an  animal  bearing  these  attributes*  is  appointed  to  fill. 

2.  "As  birds  are  seen  to  occupy  very  different  stations,  some  obtaining 
their  food  on  the  ground,  others  on  trees,  and  not  a  few  at  various  degrees 
of  elevation  in  the  air,  so  are  fishes  destined  to  reside  in  different  situations 
in  the  water :  the  flat-fishes  and  the  various  species  of  skate  are,  by  their 
depressed  form  of  body,  admirably  adapted  to  inhabit  the  lowest  position, 
and  where  they  occupy  least  space,  among  their  kindred  fishes. 

3.  "Preferring  sandy  or  muddy  shores,  and  unprovided  with  swimming 
bladders,  their  place  is  close  to  the  ground,  where,  hiding  their  bodies  hori- 
zontally in  the  loose  soil  at  the  bottom,  with  the  head  only  slightly  elevated, 
an  eye  on  the  under  side  of  the  head  would  be  useless ;  but  both  eyes  placed 
on  the  upper  surface  affords  them  an  extensive  range  of  view  in  those  vari- 
ous directions  in  which  they  may  either  endeavor  to  find  suitable  food  r^v 
avoid  dangerous  enemies.  Having  little  or  no  means  of  defense,  had  their 
color  been  placed  only  above  the  lateral  line  on  each  side,  in  whatever  po- 
sition they  moved  their  piebald^  appearance  would  have  rendered  them  con- 
spicuous objects  to  all  their  enemies. 

4.  "iJSVhen  near  the  ground  they  swim  slowly,  maintaining  their  horizon- 
tal position ;  and  the  smaller  pectoral  and  ventral  fins  on  the  under  side  are 
advantageous  where  there  is  so  much  less  room  for  their  action,  than  with 


254  '  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  V. 

the  larger  fins  that  are  above.  When  suddenly  disturbed  they  sometimes 
make  a  rapid  shoot,  changing  their  position  from  horizontal  to  vertical :  if 
the  observer  happens  to  be  opposite  the  white  side,  they  may  be  seen  to  pass 
with  the  rapidity  and  flash  of  a  meteor ;  but  they  soon  sink  down,  resuming 
their  previous  motionless  horizontal  position,  and  are  then  distinguished  with 
difficulty,  owing  to  their  great  similarity  in  color  to  the  surface  on  which  they 
rest." 

From  another  writer,  Mr.  Swainson,  we  quote  the  following 
remarks : 

5.  "The  resemblance  between  the  colors  of  the  flat-fish,  in  general,  and 
those  of  the  ground  they  repose  upon,  is  so  admirably  ordered  as  to  claim 
both  attention  and  admiration.  The  upper  surface,  or  that  which  is  exposed 
to  view  and  to  the  action  of  the  light,  is  invariably  of  some  shade  of  earth- 
en brown  or  of  grayish  sand-color :  this  is  broken  by  dots  and  blotches,  ei- 
ther light  or  dark,  blackish  or  reddish,  but  always  so  disposed  as  perfectly 
to  resemble  those  under  shades,  as  they  may  be  called,  which  are  caused  by 
the  inequalities  of  the  ground  and  the  presence  of  particles  of  different  tints 
that  may  be  upon  it. 

6.  "Thus,  whether  we  contemplate  the  God  of  nature  in  his  most  sub- 
lime productions,  or  in  those  provisions  which  he  makes  for  the  well-being 
of  his  most  irrational  creatures,  the  same  principle  of  design — the  same  ab- 
solute perfection  in  execution — is  equally  conspicuous.  This  exquisite  fin- 
ish is  bestowed  upon  millions  which  the  eye  of  man  "hath  not  seen;"  "nor 
hath  it  entered  into  his  heart  to  conceive"  the  faculties  and  the  instincts 
they  possess,  still  less  to  form  ideas  on  all  the  reasons  of  their  creation.  Such 
knowledge,  indeed,  we  can  not  attain  to  in  this  stage  of  our  existence,  but 
the  good  shall  most  assuredly  enjoy  it  in  the  next." 

V.  The  European  turbot,  so  well  known,  and  so  celebrated 
as  an  article  of  luxury,  is  considered  the  best  of  the  flat-fishes. 
It  has  never  been  found  on  the  coasts  of  the  Uriited  States, 
although  the  spotted  turbot,  or  New  York  plaice,  much  re- 
sembles it.  The  turbot  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  rhom- 
bus of  the  Romans,  of  which  a  specimen  of  enormous  size  is 
said  to  have  been  taken  in  the  reign  of  Domitian,  who  called 
a  meeting  of  the  senate  to  decide  upon  the  best  mode  of  bring- 
ing it  to  the  table !     Juvenal  says : 

**  \o  vossel  he  finds  to  hold  Rtich  a  fish, 
And  the  senate's  convoked  to  decree  a  new  dish." 


f  nA-n\T)E'  ((tha-rkde')^  a  word  whose  syl- 
lables or  letters  arc  described,  first  sepa- 
rately and  then  together,  so  as  to  form  a 
kind  of  riddle. 


2  GBO-TKsqrE',  ludicrons ;  odd. 

3  A-n6m'-a-ly,  irregularity. 

*  At'-tri-hute,  inherent  quality ;  property. 

*  PTk'-u.\lu,  of  various  colors. 


3.  THE    SALT-WATER   SUCKERS. 

1.  Of  the  fish  known  as  the  salt-water  Suckers,  there  are 
two  families.  In  the  first  the  ventral  fins,  whicli  are  very 
much  dilated  beneath,  are  united  around  a  circular  disk, 
wliich  acts  as  a  sucker.  By  means  of  this  instrument  these 
fishes  arc  able  to  attach  themselves  to  any  firm  bodies  in  a 


Part  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES. 


255 


Palt-watee  Suckers.— 1.  White-tailed  Remora,  or  Shark  Sucker,  Echeneis  alUcauda. 
2.  The  Common  Kemora,  or  Sucking-fish,  Echeneis  rentora.  3.  Cornish  Sucker,  Lepa- 
dogastes  cornubierusis.    4.  Lump  Sucker,  Cyclopterus  lumpvs. 

strong  current  of  water,  and  thus  to  obtain  food  in  places 
where  most  other  fish  would  be  swept  away.  The  small 
Cornish  sucker,  found  on  the  European  coasts,  and  the  com- 
mon lump  sucker,  a  beautifully  colored  fish  found  throughout 
all  the  Northern  Seas,  are  the  best  known.  Pennant  relates 
that  upon  throwing  a  lump  sucker  into  a  pail  of  water,  it  ad- 
hered so  firmly  to  the  bottom  that,  upon  taking  hold  of  the 
fish  by  the  tail,  he  lifted  the  whole  vessel,  although  it  held 
several  gallons. 

2.  The  few  fishes  which  compose  the  second  family  of  the 
Suckers  are  natives  of  Southern  Seas,  although  a  few  species 
are  occasional  visitors  of  our  American  coasts.  In  this  family 
the  adhesive  disk  is  placed  on  the  crown  of  the  head,  in  the 
form  of  a  large  oval  shield,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  famous  re- 
mora of  the  Mediterranean,  and  the  shark  sucker,  drawings 
of  which  w^e  have  given.  The  shark  sucker  is  often  found 
adhering  to  the  shark,  and  is  frequently  met  with  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  New  York.  The  common  rem'ora  was  familiar 
to  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  from  whom  we  have  received 
many  fabulous  accounts  of  its  extraordinary  powers  in  attach- 
ing itself  to  the  sides  of  ships,  and  arresting  their  course. 

3.  Even  the  naturalist  Pliny  asserts  that  it  was  this  little 
fish  which  stayed  the  progress  of  Mark  Anton  y'|  ship  in  the 


256 


willson's  fifth  header. 


Pakt  v. 


naval  engagement  between  him  and  Augustus  Caesar,  and 
caused  the  defeat  of  the  former ;  and  that  the  Emperor  Ca- 
lig'ula  once  sufiered  a  similar  accident,  which  was  the  cause 
of  his  downfall !  If  naturalists  could  be  thus  easily  imposed 
upon  with  respect  to  the  marvelous  powers  of  the  remora,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  this  wonderful  fish  should  have  formed 
a  theme  for  the  wonder-loving  poet : 

"  The  sucking-fish  beneath,  with  secret  chains, 
Clung  to  the  keel,  the  swiftest  ship  detains. 
The  seamen  run  confused,  no  labor  spared. 
Let  fly  the  sheets,  and  hoist  the  topmast  yard. 
The  master  bids  them  give  her  all  the  sails 
To  court  the  winds  and  catch  the  coming  gales. 
But  thougli  the  canvas  bellies  to  the  blast, 
And  boisterous  winds  bear  down  the  cracking  mast, 
The  bark  stands  firmly  rooted  on  the  sea. 
And  will,  unmoved,  nor  winds  nor  waves  obey; 
Still,  as  when  calms  have  flatted  all  tlie  plain, 
And  infant  waves  scarce  wrinkle  on  the  main." 


LESSON    X. — SOFT-EAYED   BONY   FISHES,  DESTITUTE   OF 

VENTRAL  FINS :  Called  Ajyodals. 


iieal*  v/  tncku. 

Tnw  Ebl  Family.— 1.  I'-lcctric  Gymnotus,  Otjninotna  drctricus.  2.  Conger  Eel,  Con- 
ger vulgaris.  3.  The  Muraena,  Murcena  hcleiui.  4.  American  fc^aud-lauuce,  ^  )Hi}io(/;/te« 
Americanus.    6.  Shai-p-nosed  Eel,  Anguila  acutirosMs. 

1.  The  tl^ird  division  of  tlie  soft-rayed  bony  fishes  is  com- 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR  FISHES.  257 

posed  wholly  of  the  Eel  family.    Yarrell,  in  his  valuable  work, 
thus  speaks  of  this  family  of  fishes : 

"The  form  of  the  eel,  resembling  that  of  the  serpent,  has  long  excited 
a  prejudice  against  it,  which  exists  in  some  countries  even  to  the  present 
time ;  and  its  similarity  to  snakes  has  even  been  repeated  by  those  who, 
from  the  advantages  of  education,  and  their  acquirements  in  natural  his- 
tory, might  have  been  supposed  capable  of  drawing  more  accurate  conclu- 
sions. There  is  but  little  similarity  in  the  snake  and  the  eel,  except  in  the 
external  form  of  the  body :  the  important  internal  organs  of  the  two  ani- 
mals, and  the  character  of  the  skeleton,  are  most  decidedly  different. 

2.  "Eels  are,  in  reality,  a  valuable  description  of  fish :  their  flesh  is  ex- 
cellent food ;  they  are  very  numerous,  very  prolific,  and  are  found  in  almost 
every  part  of  the  world.  The  various,  species  are  hardy,  tenacious  of  life, 
and  very  easily  preserved."  Ellis,  in  his  Polynesian  Researches,  says :  "In 
Otaheite,  eels  are  great  favorites,  and  are  tamed  and  fed  until  they  attain 
an  enormous  size.  These  pets  are  kept  in  large  holes,  two  or  three  feet 
deep,  partially  filled  with  water.  On  the  sides  of  these  pits  they  generally 
remained,  excepting  when  called  by  the  person  who  fed  them.  I  have  been 
several  times  with  the  young  chief  when  he  has  sat  down  by  the  hole,  and, 
by  giving  a  shrill  sort  of  whistle,  has  brought  out  an  enormous  eel,  which 
has  moved  about  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  eaten  with  confidence  out 
of  its  master's  hand." 

3.  Some  few  eels  are  confined  to  fresh  waters,  and  some 
wholly  to  the  sea ;  but  most  of  the  species  reside  in  the  brack- 
ish water  at  the  mouths  of  rivers.  The  murcena^  an  eel  of 
the  Mediterranean,  was  so  highly  prized  by  the  Romans  that 
they  kept  it  in  a  tame  state,  and  carefully  fattened  it  for  the 
table.     Its  colors  and  markings  are  extremely  beautiful. 

4.  Plutarch  tells  us  that  Lucius  Crassus  brought  up  these 
fish  almost  by  hand,  and  that  they  acknowledged  his  presence 
by  springing  out  of  the  water  whenever  he  came  near:  he 
was  wont  to  deck  them  with  rings  and  other  ornaments ;  and 
another  writer  says  that  their  loss  was  a  greater  grief  to  him 
than  the  death  of  his  three  children !  In  short,  Cicero  tells 
us  that' "  many  of  the  great  men  of  Rome  vied  with  each 
other  in  this  extravagant  fish  passion,  and  deemed  no  moment 
of  their  lives  more  happy  than  when  these  creatures  came  to 
eat  out  of  their  hands." 

5.  But  the  most  remarkable  of  the  Eel  family  is  the  gym- 
no' tiis^  or  electrical  eel  of  South  America.  It  is  sometimes 
five  or  six  feet  in  length ;  it  has  no  tail  fin,  and  the  scales  are 
imperceptible  to  the  naked  eye.  By  its  ele(;tric  shocks  it 
knocks  down  men  and  horses,  and  can  be  obtained  only  after 
its  electric  power  has  been  expended  by  successive  shocks. 
The  Indians  of  Guiana,  in  South  America,  drive  wild  horses 
into  the  muddy  ponds  in  which  these  eels  abound,  and  thus 
are  enabled  to  secure  both  horses  and  eels ! 


258 


WILLSON'S    FIFTH    READER. 


Fart  V. 


LES.   XI. — SOFT-RATED    BONY    FISHES  WITH    TUFTED    GILLS  I 

Lophohranchii.     soft-kayed  bony  fishes  avith  solder- 
ed jaws:  Flectognathii. 


Scale  of  Jnehea. 

1.  Hudson  River  Sea-horse,  Hipjwcamjms  Iludsonius.  2.  Indian  File-fish,  Baliates 
praslinoides.  3.  Homed  Ostracioii,  O^tracion  cornutus.  4.  Great  Pipe-fiph,  Syffnathus 
acus.  5.  ^'qiiorial  Tipe-fir-h,  or  Needle-fish,  ^ccs^ro  cpgnora.  6.  Pennant's  Globe-fish, 
Tctrodon  Pennantii.  7.  Short  Sun-fish,  or  Head-fish,  Orthagoriscus  viola.  8.  Oblong 
Sun-fish,  Orthagoriacus  oblong^is.    9.  European  File-fish,  Baliates  capriscus. 

1.  The  remaining  two  divisions  of  the  soft-rayed  bony- 
fishes,  which  are  thus  grouped  in  separate  orders  because 
they  have  certain  peculiarities  in  the  forms  of  their  gills  and 
the  structure  of  their  jaws,  are  embraced  in  the  families  of  the 
Pipe  fishes,  the  Balloon  and  Globe  fishes,  and  a  feW  armed 
fishes,  mostly  of  tropical  seas.  In  the  drawing  above  are  rej)- 
resented  several  species  in  each  of  these  families.  The  pipe 
fishes,  which  vary  from  five  or  six  inches  to  two  feet  in  length, 
have  a  very  remarkable  appearance,  the  body  being  long  and 
very  slender,  the  snout  also  much  lengthened,  and  the  whole 
body  covered  with  bony  sculptured  plates,  like  a  coat  of  mail. 

2.  A  remarkable  peculiarity  in  several  species  of  the  pipe 
fishes  is  the  existence,  in  the  males,  of  two  long  and  soft  mem- 
branes which  fold  together,  and  form  an  abdominal  pouch,  in 
which  the  eggs  are  carried  about  until  they  are  hatched,  and 
into  which  the  young  retreat  in  case  of  danger.  Fishermen 
assert  that  when  the  young  are  shaken  out  of  the  pouch  into 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OB   FISHES.  259 

the  water,  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  they  do  not  swim  away, 
but  when  the  parent  fish  is  held  in  the  water  in  a  favorable 
position,  the  young  again  enter  the  retreat  which  nature  has 
provided  for  them.  This  provision  for  the  care  and  safety  of 
the  young  is  strikingly  similar  to  what  is  seen  in  marsupial 
quadrupeds.     {See  Third  Reader^  p.  236.) 

3.  A  very  singular  species  of  the  pipe  fishes  is  the  hippo- 
campus, or,  as  it  is  frequently  called  in  this  country,  the  Hud- 
son River  sea-horse.  It  is  five  or  six  inches  in  length,  the 
jaws  are  united  and  tubular,  the  shape  of  the  head  has  con- 
siderable resemblance  to  that  of  the  horse,  the  eyes  move  in- 
dependently of  each  other,  the  body  is  covered  with  bony 
plates,  and  it  is  believed  to  be  the  only  fish  which  has  a  pre- 
hensile^ tail,  showing  in  this  latter  particular  an  additional 
resemblance  of  the  pipe  fishes  to  the  marsupial  quadrupeds. 
When  swimming  about  it  maintains  a  vertical  position ;  but 
the  tail,  ready  to  grasp  whatever  it  meets  in  the  water,  quick- 
ly entwines  in  any  direction  around  the  weeds ;  and  when  the 
animal  is  thus  fixed,  it  intently  watches  the  surrounding  ob- 
jects, and  darts  at  its  prey  with  great  dexterity. 

4.  The  globe  and  balloon  fishes,  which  belong  to  the  fifth 
division  of  the  soft-rayed  bony  fishes,  are  little  less  singular 
in  appearance  than  those  of  the  fourth  division.  The  globe- 
fishes,  or  puflers,  possess  the  peculiar  property  of  pufiing  them- 
selves up  into  a  globular  form  by  swallowing  a  quantity  of 
air.  When  thus  inflated,^  in  consequence  of  the  under  parts 
becoming  lighter  than  the  upper,  the  fish  turns  upside  down, 
and  floats  about  in  this  condition,  still  retaining  the  power  of 
directing  its  course.  As  the  inflated  abdomen  is  covered  with 
spines,  this  seems  to  be  a  means  of  warding  off  the  attack  of 
enemies. 

5.  The  short  and  the  oblong  sun  fishes  appear  as  though 
portions  had  been  cut  away,  so  as  to  leave  little  but  the  head 
remaining.  Among  the  armed  fishes  of  this  order,  the  Euro- 
pean file-fish  is  the  best  known.  It  is  so  named  because  it 
has  the  first  and  strongest  spine  of  the  back  studded  up  the 
front  with  small  projections.  In  the  same  family  is  the  ba- 
listes  of  the  Indian  Seas,  which  is  armed  near  the  tail  with 
three  rows  of  crooked  spines ;  also  the  horned  ostracion,  a 
strange-looking  fish,  which  has  two  horns  extending  from  the 
head  in  front,  and  two  near  the  ventral  fins. 

1  Pee-hkn'-sTle,  grasping;  adapted  to  seize,  12  In-fla'-ted,  puffed  up,  or  swollea  by  air. 
as  the  tail  of  a  monkey.  j 


260 


WILLSON  S   FIFTH   READER. 


i'ABT   V. 


THIED  CLASS  OF  FISHES. 

CAETILAGINOUS  FISHES.     iChondropterygii.) 
[Shark,  Sturgeon,  Chimsera,  Ray,  and  Lamprey  Familiee.] 


Hcale  oj'  I'eet. 


Thb  Shark  Family. — 1.  Spinous  Shark,  EcJdnochimis  spinosus.  2.  Greenland  Shark, 
Scymivus  borealis.  3.  Basking  Shark,  Selachus  rtiaximiis.  4.  White  Shark,  Charchariaa 
milgaria.  6.  Fox  Shark,  or  Thresher,  Alopias  milpes.  6.  Cirrated  Saw-fish, Pn^is  cirra- 
tis.    7.  Hammer-headed  Sliark,  Zygcena  malleus. 

LESSON   XII. — THE   SHARK   FAMILY.       (PLACOIDS.) 

1.  No  life  is  in  the  air,  but  in  the  waters 

Are  creatures  huge,  and  terrible,  and  strong ; 
The  sword-fish  and  the  shark  pursue  their  slaughters, 

War  univei'sal  reigns  these  depths  along. 
Like  some  new  island  on  the  ocean  springing. 

Floats  on  the  surfiice  some  gigantic  wkalc, 
From  its  vast  head  a  silver  fountain  flinging. 

Bright  as  the  fountain  in  a  fairy  tale. — L.  E.  Maclean. 

2.  Although  the  cartilaginous^  division  is  of  very  limited 
extent,  compared  with  cither  of  the  preceding,  yet  the  most 
formidable  of  the  whole  class  of  fishes  are  embraced  in  it.  As 
their  name  implies,  their  skeleton  consists  of  cartilage  instead 
of  bone ;  and  it  is  probably  owing  to  the  comparatively  soft 
texture  of  the  skeleton  that  these  fish  continue  to  grow  as 
long  as  they  live.  The  consequence  is  that,  as  they  mostly 
inhabit  the  wide  ocean,  and  have  few  enemies,  they  are  some- 
times met  with  of  a  size  so  enormous  that  their  weight  and 
dimensions  are  almost  incredible. 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES.  261 

3.  The  sharks,  which  are  the  most  coDspicuous  and  the  most 
perfectly  organized  of  the  cartilaginous  division,  are  among 
lishes  what  the  carnivorous^  animals  are  among  quadrupeds, 
and  the  eagles,  hawks,  and  owls  among  birds.  Like  these 
their  representatives,  they  are  proverbially^  the  tigers  and 
panthers  of  the  ocean ;  and  they  frequently  carry  upon  them, 
as  it  were,  the  very  spots  and  markings  of  those  ferocious 
beasts.  Their  forms  are  often  gigantic,  and  their  fierceness 
and  voracity  proverbial :  they  are  the  dread  and  detestation 
of  mariners ;  and,  even  when  dead,  their  aspect  is  sufficient  to 
excite  fear.  These  monsters  of  the  deep  are  nearly  all  com- 
pletely carnivorous ;  and  their  appetite  is  so  voracious  that 
they  indiscriminately  devour  whatever  living  being  comes  in 
their  way.  It  is  a  w^ell-authenticated  fact  that  some  of  these 
monsters,  at  a  single  bite,  have  cut  a  man  in  two ;  and  an  en- 
tire human  body  is  said  to  have  been  found,  on  one  occasion, 
in  the  stomach  of  one  of  them. 

4.  Fortunately,  however,  very  few  of  the  sharks  found  in 
our  temperate  latitudes  grow  to  such  a  size  as  to  awaken  our 
fears,  or  commit* injury  upon  our  persons;  but,  as  soon  as  we 
enter  the  warmer  regions,  toward  the  tropics,  bathing  in  the 
sea  becomes  a  hazardous,  and  often  dangerous  undertaking. 
In  tropical  climes  the  ocean  swarms  with  sharks.  They  all 
swim  with  great  velocity,  and  often  in  vast  multitudes,  espe- 
cially when  pursuing  shoals  of  other  fish. 

5.  The  sharks  have  a  hard,  rough,  leathery  skin,  sometimes 
covered  with  small  warts  intermingled  with  spines  ;*  but  none 
have  yet  been  found  with  true  scales.  The  skin,  when  dried, 
forms  an  article  of  commerce,  and  is  used  for  polishing  wood ; 
also  as  a  covering  for  boxes,  watch-cases,  etc.,  under  the  name 
of  shagreen.  The  mouth  of  the  shark  is  concealed  beneath 
an  extended  snout ;  and  it  is  owing  to  this  position  that  the 
fish  is  compelled  to  turn  nearly  on  its  back  when  it  seizes  its 
prey. 

6.  Among  the  larger  and  more  formidable  of  the  sharks  are 
the  white  shark,  the  basking  shark,  the  fox  shark  or  thresher, 
and  the  Greenland  shark.  The  white  shark  is  seldom  seen 
on  our  coasts,  but  is  abundant  in  the  Mediterranean,  and  is 
found  in  great  numbers  in  tropical  climates.  It  is  often  thir- 
ty feet  in  length,  and  swims  Avith  great  swiftness.  It  scents 
its  prey  at  a  great  distance,  and  it  is  affirmed  that  it  is  much 
more  apt  to  attack  a  negro  than  a  white  man ;  and  when  both 

*  It  is  the  character  of  this  warty  or  spiny  covering  that  places  the  sharks  in  Agassiz's 
division  of  Placoid  fishes. 


262 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Part  V. 


ticale  of  Feet. 


The  Suabks,  continued.—!.  Large-spotted  Dog-fish,  Scxjllhim  cntulus.  2.  Tope,  or  Pen- 
ny-dog, Galeus  vulgaris.  3.  Blue  Shark  (the  most  common  shark  on  our  coasts),  Carcha- 
rias  glaucus.  4.  Porbeagle,  Lamna  cornubica.  5.  Small-spotted  Dog-fish,  Scyllium  ca- 
nicula.  6.  Picked  (or  Piked)  Dog-fish,  Acanthias  vulgaris.  7.  Smooth  Hound,  JfusfcltM 
Icevis. 

are  bathing  together,  or  otherwise  in  its  power,  it  generally 
selects  the  former.     Cuvier  thus  speaks  of  this  shark: 

7.  "The  French  name  this  terrible  ammal  Rcquin,  or  Requiem,  *the  rest 
or  stillness  of  death,' in  allusion  to  the  deadly  character  of  its  habits;  and 
when  we  consider  its  enormous  size  and  powers,  the  strength  and  number 
of  its  teeth,  the  rapidity  of  its  movements,  its  frequent  appearance  during 
all  the  turmoil  and  horrors  of  a  tempest,  with  death  and  destruction  appar- 
ent in  every  blast  and  every  wave,  to  add  to  the  horror  of  the  scene  by  the 
phosphoric  light  emitted  from  its  huge  body  near  the  surface  of  the  troubled 
waters,  with  its  open  mouth  and  throat  ready  to  twallow,  entire,  the  despair- 
ing sailor,  we  must  admit  the  projiriety  of  a  name  expressive  of  the  natural 
association  of  ideas  which  connects  this  cruel  monster  of  the  deep  with 
death." 

8.  The  spinous  shark,  equally  frightful  in  appearance,  but 
much  smaller  than  the  white  shark,  is  covered  with  spines 
which  exactly  resemble  the  prickles  from  the  stem  of  a  rose- 
bush. The  basking  shark,  so  called  from  its  habit  of  remain- 
ing occasionally  at  the  surface  of  the  water  almost  motionless, 
as  if  enjoying  the  influence  of  the  sun's  rays,  has  been  known 
to  measure  thirty-six  feet  in  length.  This  species  has  the 
smallest  teeth,  in  proportion  to  its  size,  of  any  of  the  sharks, 
and  is  not  a  ravenous*  fish.     It  is  often  so  indifferent  to  the 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OK   FISHES.  263 

approach  of  a  boat  as  to  suffer  it  even  to  touch  its  body  when 
listlessly  sunning  itself  on  the  surface  ;  but  if  deeply  struck 
with  a  harpoon,  it  plunges  suddenly  down,  and  swims  away 
with  such  rapidity  and  violence  as  to  become  a  difficult  as 
well  as  a  dangerous  capture.  It  is  supposed  that  this  huge 
fish,  swimming  near  the  surface,  with  its  upper  jaw  projected 
out  of  the  water,  has  often  been  mistaken  for  the  sea-serpent. 

9.  The  thresher,  or  fox  shark,  which  is  not  so  uncommon  on 
our  coasts,  has  received  its  name  from  its  habit  of  attacking 
other  animals,  or  defending  itself  by  blows  of  the  tail.  In 
company  with  the  sword-fish  it  often  attacks  the  whale,  as 
we  have  before  described.  (See  p.  236.)  It  has  been  ob- 
served to  approach  a  herd  of  dolphins  sporting  in  security 
on  the  surface,  and  by  one  sj^lash  of  its  formidable  weapon  to 
scatter  them  in  alarm  in  every  direction.  The  Greenland 
shark,  which  is  found  only  in  northern  seas,  and  is  another  of 
the  foes  of  the  whale,  has  thus  been  described  by  Scoresby : 

10.  "It  bites  the  whale,  and  annoys  it  while  living,  and  feeds  on  it  when 
dead.  It  scoops  pieces  out  of  its  body  nearly  as  big  as  a  man's  head ;  and 
continues  scooping  and  gorging,  lump  after  lump,  until  the  whole  cavity  of 
its  belly  is  filled.  It  is  so  insensible  to  pain  that  it  has  been  run  through 
the  body  with  a  knife,  and  escaped,  yet  after  a  while  it  has  been  seen  to  re- 
turn and  banquet  on  the  whale  at  the  very  spot  where  it  had  received  its 
wounds. 

11.  ''The  heart  of  this  shark  is  very  small;  it  performs  six  or  eight  pul- 
sations in  a  minute,  and  continues  its  beating  for  some  time  after  it  is  taken 
out  of  the  body.  The  body  also,  though  separated  into  several  parts,  gives 
evidence  of  life  for  a  similar  length  of  time.  It  is  therefore  exceedingly 
difficult  to  kill  this  fish  ;  and  it  is  actually  unsafe  to  thrust  the  hand  into 
its  mouth,  though  the  head  be  separated  from  the  body.  Though  the  whale- 
fishers  frequently  slip  into  the  water  where  these  sharks  abound,  it  is  not 
known  that  they  have  ever  been  attacked  by  them.  Indeed,  the  sailors  im- 
agine that  this  fish  is  blind,  because  it  pays  not  the  least  attention  to  the 
presence  of  a  man ;  and  it  is  so  stupid  that  it  never  draws  back  when  a 
blow  is  aimed  at  it  with  a  knife  or  lance." 

12.  The  most  curiotis  of  all  the  sharks  is  that  which  is 
popularly  termed  by  fishermen  the  shovel-nose,  or  hammer- 
head. It  has  a  head  three  times  broader  than  long,  is  from 
four  to  ten  feet  in  length,  and  has  been  several  times  taken  in 
New  York  harbor.  The  mouth,  being  on  the  under  side,  can 
not  be  seen  in  the  drawing  Avhich  we  have  given.  The  saw- 
fish, which  is  usually  included  in  the  Shark  family,  has  its  up- 
per jaw  prolonged  into  a  bony  snout,  often  five  or  six  feet  in 
length,  and  having  its  sides  covered  with  numerous  sharp 
spines  similar  to  teeth. 

1  €AB-Tr-Ll«;'-iN-oiT8,  having  the  qualities|3  Proveeb'-i-al-ly,  speaking  in  the  form 
of  cartilage  or  giistle.  of  a  proverb  or  by-word. 

2  €ab-niv'-o-rou8,  feeding  on  flesh.  |*  Rav'-en-ous,  hungry  for  prey;  voracious. 


264 


willson's  fifth  eeadeb. 


Pakt  v. 


LESSON"   XIII. — CARTILAGINOUS   FISHES   CONTINUED. 

[Sturgeon,  Chimsera,  Ray,  and  Lamprey  Families.] 


Scale  of  Feet. 

Stdbqeon  and  CniM.«EA  Families. — 1.  Common  Sturgeon  of  the  Atlantic,  Acipenser 
sturio.  2.  Northern  Chimsera,  Cliimcera  monstroaa.  8.  American  Lake  Stui-geon,  Aei- 
penser  rubicundus. 

1.  Of  the  Sturgeon  family,  the  best  known  ,are  the  common 
sturgeon  of  the  Atlantic,  usually  found  in  rivers  which  flow 
into  the  sea,  and  the  fresh-water  sturgeon  found  in  the  large 
lakes  of  North  America.  The  fish  of  this  family,  like  the 
sharks,  are  at  once  known  by  their  long  and  angular  body, 
which  is  defended  by  rows  of  large  bony  plates  of  a  pyram- 
idal form,  with  the  apex  pointed.  In  England  and  France 
the  sturgeon  was  formerly  regarded  as  a  royal  fish — that  is, 
the  property  of  the  crown.  The  flesh  is  firm  and  compact, 
tasting  somewhat  like  veal.  The  sturgeon  seeks  its  food 
chiefly  at  the  bottom  of  rivers,  plowing  up  the  mud  with 
its  long  snout  as  a  hog  does  the  ground.  It  often  does  much 
damage  by  getting  entangled  in  the  nets  of  the  fishermen,  but 
is  otherwise  harmless. 

2.  The  chimaeras,  or  sea-monsters,  which  are  rare  fish,  are 
remarkable  for  the  singularity  of  their  appearance,  which  gives 
as  much  the  idea  of  a  reptile  as  of  a  fish.  The  rays,  or  skates, 
which  are  still  more  remarkable  in  appearance,  may  be  con- 
sidered the  flat  fishes  of  the  cartilaginous  order.  With  few 
exceptions  they  are  wholly  marine  fishes.  Most  of  them  have 
the  pectoral  fins  so  largely  developed  that  they  extend  en- 
tirely around  the  head  and  body,  to  which  they  give  a  disk- 
like form ;  the  tail  is  slender,  and  the  dorsal  fins,  when  pres- 
ent, are  generally  remarkably  small,  and  placed  far  back  on 
the  body. 

3.  The  eyes  of  the  rays  are  placed  on  the  upper  surface ; 


Part  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES. 


265 


Cicale  of  I'tuC. 

The  Rat  Family.— 1.  Common  Toi-pedo,  Torpedo  vulffan's.  2.  Many-.«pined  Trygon, 
Trygon  histrix.  3.  Thornback  Ray,  Raia  clavata.  4.  Angel-fish,  or  Monk-fish,  Aquatina 
angelus.    5.  Eagle  Ray,  or  Whip  Ray,  Myliobatis  aquila. 

but  the  mouth,  nostrils,  and  branchial  openings — the  latter 
usually  five  in  number,  and  arranged  like  those  of  the  sharks 
— are  on  the  under  surface.  The  tail  is  usually  covered  with 
rows  of  spines,  and  in  several  species  is  additionally  armed 
with  a  hard  bony  weapon  in  the  shape  of  a  long-headed  lance. 
It  is  supposed  that  this  weapon  falls  off  at  certain  intervals — 
perhaps  annually,  to  be  replaced  by  another.  The  South  Sea 
Islanders  sometimes  use  it  as  a  point  to  their  arrows  and 


spears 


and  the  natives  of  Guiana  are  said  to  use  the  barbs 


of  the  fresh-water  species  of  that  country  for  the  same  pur- 
pose. 

4.  Although  most  of  the  members  of  the  Ray  and  Skate 
family  are  only  from  one  to  three  and  four  feet  in  length,  yet 
some  species,  especially  those  of  the  horned  or  banksian  ray, 
which  are  more  familiarly  known  to  sailors  as  sea  devils  or 
ocean  vampires,  attain  to  enormous  dimensions.  In  the  horn- 
ed ray,  the  pectoral  fins,  instead  of  entirely  embracing  the 
head,  are  each  prolonged  considerably  in  front,  so  as  to  pre- 
sent the  appearance  of  two  horns ;  and  the  eyes  are  inserted 
on  the  circumference,  not  within  it. 

5.  This  fish,  which  usually  lies  concealed  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea,  is  said  to  have  been  found  of  such  weight  that  seven 
yoke  of  oxen  were  required  to  draw  it  ashore.  Voyagers  re- 
port having  seen  it  thirty  or  forty  feet  in  length.     Colonel 

M 


266  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pakt  v. 

^  Hamilton  Smith  relates  that  he 

jl^^^^^^^  once  witnessed  the  destruction  of 

ii^^^^^^g  ^  soldier  by  one  of  these  immense 

^^^^^^^K  rays,  off  the  island  of  Trinidad.    It 

^^^^^^^^m  appears  that  the  soldier  wished  to 

^I^^^^^^P  desert,  and,  being  a  good  swim- 

^^^^^[^  mer,  he  had  jumped  into  the  sea 

^1^^^^  from  the  vessel,  w'hich  then  lay  at 

^"^^N^  anchor  near  the  entrance  of  the 

Horned  Ray,  Sea  Devil,  or  Ocean  Vam-  harbor.     The  circumstaUCC  OCCUr- 

pire,  cephaioptera  vampirus.  red  soon  after  daylight,  and  the 
man,  being  alarmed  by  the  call  of  a  sailor  up  aloft,  endeavor- 
ed to  return  to  the  ship ;  but  the  monster  tish  threw  one  of 
his  fins  over  him,  and  he  was  never  seen  more. 

6.  In  the  Natural  History  of  the  State  of  New  York  we 
find  it  stated  that  this  fish  has  been  known  "  to  seize  the  cable 
of  a  small  vessel  at  anchor,  and  draw  the  vessel  several  miles 
with  great  velocity."  The  waiter,  Mr.  De  Kay,  says :  *'  An  in- 
stance of  this  kind  was  related  to  me  by  a  credible  witness, 
as  having  occurred  in  the  harbor  of  Charleston.  A  schooner 
lying  at  anchor  was  suddenly  seen  moving  across  the  harbor 
with  great  rapidity,  impelled  by  some  unknown  and  myste- 
rious power.  Upon  approaching  the  opposite  shore,  its  course 
was  changed  so  suddenly  as  nearly  to  capsize  the  vessel,  when 
it  again  crossed  the  harbor  with  its  former  velocity,  and  the 
same  scene  was  repeated  when  it  reached  the  shore.  These 
mysterious  flights  across  the  harbor  were  repeated  several 
times,  in  the  presence  of  hundreds  of  spectators."  If  this  be 
a  true  fish  story,  even  the  Atlantic  cable  may  have  been  toiii 
from  its  moorings  by  some  of  these  monsters  of  the  deep. 

7.  Among  the  rays  are  a  group  of  fish  which  possess  elec- 
trical properties,  and  which  are  known  as  electric  rays,  or 
torpedoes.  Although  the  torpedo  is  less  powerfully  electrical 
than  the  gymnotus  or  eel,  it  can  benumb  the  arm  of  a  person 
touching  it ;  and  this  power  it  seems  to  exert  at  will,  both  as 
a  means  of  defense  and  for  the  purpose  of  securing  its  prey. 
The  angel-fish,  or  shark-ray,  of  which  we  have  given  a  draw- 
ing, is  classed  by  some  among  the  sharks.  It  is  more  re- 
markable for  the  singularity  of  its  form  than  for  its  beauty. 

8.  There  is  still  another  family  of  fishes  of  the  cartilaginous 
division  called  Lampreys,  resembling  the  eels  in  form.  "We 
have  given  drawings  of  several  species.  The  sea-lamprey  is 
esteemed  by  many  as  a  delicious  article  of  food.  The  lam- 
preys occupy  the  lowest  place,  not  only  among  fishes,  but 


Part  V. 


ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES. 


267 


Scale  0/  Inches. 

The  Lampret  Family.— 1.  Glutinous  Hag,  or  Myxine,  Gastrobranchus  coecus.  2.  The 
Pride,  or  Mud  Lamprey,  Ammocoetes  branchialis.  3.  Common  Lamprey,  Pteromyzon 
viarinus.    4.  Tlie  Lancelot,  Amphioxus  lanceolatus. 

among  all  vertebrated  animals,  showing  the  gradual  approach- 
es which  one  class  of  animals  makes  to  another.  Thus  one 
species,  the  glutinous  hag,  is  destitute  of  eyes.  The  lancelot, 
which  has  been  classed  among  the  lampreys,  is  the  lowest 
link  yet  discovered  in  the  scale  of  vertebrated  life,  as  the 
skeleton  is  only  a  series  of  sacs,  and  there  is  a  total  want  of 
brain,  eye,  and  ear. 


Here  we  close  our  description  of  the  four  great  classes  of 
vertebrate  animals — mammalia,  birds,  reptiles,  and  fishes.  In 
the  sixth  volume  of  this  series  we  enter  upon  another  great 
division  of  zoology — the  Insect  World — in  which  we  shall 
find  reftewed  evidence  of  that  wisdom  which  has  peopled 
every  part  of  our  globe  with  life  adapted  to  the'  conditions 
for  which  it  is  destined.  When  we  shall  have  arrived  at  those 
lowest  links  in  the  scale  of  animal  life  which  connect  the  ani- 
mal and  vegetable  kingdoms,  we  shall  look  with  renewed  in- 
terest upon  the  great  whole  of  animated  nature ;  and  as  we 
trace  upward,  from  the  dividing  line,  a  gradual  elevation,  im- 
til  Ave  arrive  at  the  most  intelligent  of  the  brute  animals,  and 
there  find  the  chain  suddenly  broken,  we  shall  more  fully  re- 
alize the  beauty  of  the  Christian  idea,  that  man  belongs  to  an 
entirely  different  and  immeasurably  higher  order  of  being,  al- 
though perhaps  the  lowest  in  a  series  that  rises  upward — up- 
ward— through  angelic  hosts,  until  it  takes  hold  of  the  throne 
of  the  Eternal. 


268 


WILLSOX  S   FIFTH   BEADEE. 


Pakt   V. 


LES.  XIV. — THE   AQUARIA,  OR    DRAWING-ROOM    FISH-PONDS, 


1.  Decidedly  the  prettiest  drawing-room  ornament  that 
has  been  invented  of  late  years  is  the  Aquarium^  or  orna- 
mental fish-pond.  This  is  usually  a  glass  vessel,  either  circu- 
lar or  oblong,  with  a  slate  bottom,  wooden  or  zinc  pillars, 
and  glass  sides,  and  containing  various  kinds  of  sea-weed,  fish, 
and  marine  animals  of  the  lower  organizations,  all  in  the  full 
vigor  of  life. 

2.  It  is  hard  to  say  whether  the  process  by  which  the  pres- 
ent aquaria  were  developed,  or  that  development  itself,  is  the 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES.  269 

more  wonderful.  Probably  every  body  has  seen  gold-fish  in 
the  old  conventional^  glass  tureen. ^  Their  life  was  a  series  of 
spirals,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  beholders  as  well  as  to  them- 
selves when  they  expired  at  last.  Dazzled  by  the  glare  of 
the  sunlight  through  the  sides  of  their  glass  dwelling,  the  poor 
creatures  spent  their  whole  existence  in  trying  to  find  out 
where  they  were  and  how  they  could  get  out :  no  moth  near 
a  candle  ever  suftered  more  agonizing  perplexity  than  they. 
To  keep  them  in  some  appearance  of  health  for  a  few  weeks, 
it  was  necessary  to  change  the  water  frequently :  every  time 
this  was  done  the  poor  little  creatures  died  a  thousand  deaths 
— endured  such  agony  as  we  should  feel  if  we  were  jjlunged 
to  the  bottom  of  a  river,  and  held  there  till  we  were  senseless, 
every  morning  before  breakfast. 

3.  It  was  found  a  difticult  matter  to  rear,  in  this  way,  the 
hardy  gold-fish,  wh;le  almost  every  other  description  offish 
would  have  perished  in  the  glass  tureen  within  a  week.  And 
for  this  simple  reason :  like  all  living  creatures,  fish  emit  car- 
bonic acid  gas ;  this,  in  a  confined  body  of  water,  would  soon 
be  in  excess,  the  water  would  become  poisonous,  and  the  fish 
would  die.  The  only  alternative — that  of  changing  the  wa- 
ter daily — would  frequently  be  fatal  to  the  tender  creatures 
that  were  compelled  to  submit  to  our  handling. 

4.  At  length,  however — and  it  was  only  a  few  years  ago — 
the  principle  Avas  discovered  that,  in  water  as  in  air,  the  prime 
function  of  plants  is  to  evolve  oxygen  and  to  consume  carbon- 
ic acid  gas ;  in  other  words,  to  use  for  food  the  noxious  va- 
por emitted  by  animals,  and  to  supply  them,  in  its  stead,  with 
the  first  necessary  of  animal  life — pure  air. 

5.  Starting  with  this  principle,  about  the  year  1850,  a  Mr. 
Warrington,  an  Englishman,  set  about  breeding  fish  and  mol- 
lusks^  in  tanks,  with  the  aid  of  marine  plants.  He  succeeded 
admirably  for  a  few  days ;  but,  after  a  time,  a  change  came 
o'er  his  little  worlds.  Without  apparent  reason  the  water 
became  suddenly  impure,  and  his  fish  died.  Here  was  a  new 
agency  at  work.  With  the  aid  of  the  microscope,  Mr.  War- 
rington explored  his  tank  for  the  poison  which  was  evidently 
latent*  there.  He  soon  discovered  that  some  of  his  plants  had 
reached  maturity,  and,  obedient  to  the  law  of  nature,  had  died 
and  decayed.  The  decaying  matter  was  the  poison  he  was 
in  search  of.     How  was  this  to  be  counteracted  ? 

6.  In  Nature's  tanks,  reflected  Mr.  Warrington — in  seas,  riv- 
ers, and  ponds — plants  must  die  and  decay,  yet  the  decay  does 
not  destroy  animal  life.     We  must  see  how  Nature  obviates 


270  WILLSON's  fifth  reader.  Part  V. 

the  evil.  The  experimentalist  hastened  ti)  a  pond  in  the  vi- 
cinity, and  explored  its  bottom  with  care.  He  found,  as  he 
had  anticipated,  abundance  of  decayed  vegetable  matter ;  but 
he  likewise  found  swarms  of  water-snails  doing  duty  as  scav- 
engers,^ and  devouring  the  putrefying  substances  before  they 
had  time  to  taint  the  water.  Here  was  the  secret — so  beau- 
tiful a  contrivance  that  it  is  said  Mr.  Warrington,  with  the 
emotion  of  a  true  man  of  science,  burst  into  tears  when  it 
flashed  upon  him. 

7.  He  dried  his  eyes,  however,  quickly  enough,  pocketed 
some  snails,  and  threw  a  handful  of  them  into  his  little  tank 
at  home.  In  a  single  day  the  water  was  pure  and  clear. 
Fish  launched  into  it  throve  and  gamboled,  grew  and  multi- 
plied ;  the  plants  resumed  their  bright  colors,  and  the  snails 
not  only  rollicked^  in  an  abundance  of  decaying  branches  from 
the  plants,  but  laid  a  profusion  of  eggs,  on  which  the  fish  and 
mollusks  dined  sumptuously  every  day. 

8.  Thus  the  aquarium — the  drawing-room  fish-pond — be- 
came a  possibility.  Mr.  Warrington  communicated  his  dis- 
coveries to  the  Royal  Society  of  London  ;  they  were  taken  up 
by  half  the  scientific  men  of  England,  and  a  series  of  experi- 
ments w^as  begun,  to  test  the  relative  capacity  of  the  various 
known  kinds  of  marine  plants,  fish,  and  marine  creatures  of 
the  lowest  orders,  for  living  in  the  limited  area  of  a  liouse- 
tank.  Those  experiments  have  been  so  thorough  that  books 
are  now  published  containing  the  most  minute  directions  for 
the  establishment  of  aquaria ;  and  it  is  said  that  almost  ev- 
ery great  drawing-room  in  England  is  provided  with  one  or 
more  of  them. 

9.  The  most  common  kind  of  aquarium  is  the  oblong  box 
or  the  circular  vase,  like  the  one  represented  in  the  engrav- 
ing. If  all 'the  sides  are  of  glass,  that  which  is  nearest  the 
light  should  be  shaded  with  a  curtain,  as  neither  fish  nor 
plants  thrive  unless  the  sunlight  reaches  them  from  the  sur- 
face of  the  water.  Nature  must  always  be  co])ied.  If  you 
would  have  fish  in  your  aquarium,  a  siphon'^  should  be  used 
to  change  the  water  occasionally,  and  a  syringe  to  aerate^  it 
daily,  imless  a  gentle  stream  can  be  made  to  flow  in  and  out 
constantly.  Perfectly  still  water  is  too  slow  for  well-bred 
fish,  although  it  may  do  for  reptiles. 

10.  Having  provided  yourself  with  the  aquarium,  strew  the 
bottom  with  clean  sand  and  fine  pebbles  to  the  depth  of  some 
three  inches ;  then  build  your  rock-work.  As  trees  were  cre- 
ated before  the  creatures  which  bask  in  their  shade,  so  you 


Part  V.  ICHTHYOLOGY,  OR   FISHES.  271 

must  plant  your  marine  vegetation  before  you  people  your 
miniature  ocean.  Having  therefore  poured  in  your  water, 
Avhich  should  be  as  fresh  as  possible  from  its  source,  and  not 
on  any  account  boiled,  introduce  your  plants,  taking  care  that 
each  is  not  only  perfect  as  to  its  root,  but  is  also  supplied  with 
some  portion  of  its  maternal  mould  or  rock. 

11.  It  is  believed  that  most  marine  plants,  and  all  the  sea- 
weeds, will  thrive  in  the  salt-water  aquaria.  Zoophytes,^  or 
animal  plants,  must  find  a  place  there ;  and  among  these,  those 
wonderful  creatures,  the  star-fish,  which  possess  the  power  of 
cutting  themselves  up  into  joints,  and  dissolving  into  six  or 
eight  perfect  creatures  of  their  own  species.  Mollusks^  and 
crustaceans^^  must  be  added,  to  act  the  part  of  scavengers 
and  street  inspectors.  Among  the  moUusks  al-e  several  spe- 
cies of  whelk,  which  are  found  useful  as  window- washers,  that 
is,  in  keeping  the  glass  sides  of  the  tank  clear  and  bright. 
As  to  fish,  we  may  select,  from  a  great  variety,  the  flounders 
(when  young),  the  sticklebacks,  the  mullets,  the  gobies  and 
blennies,  the  porgee,  the  pipe-fish,  and  many  others.  The 
sticklebacks — which  build  nests,  and  behave  themselves  in 
so  unfishlike  a  manner  generally — are  great  favorites. 

12.  Thus  far  of  salt-water  ponds.  But  aquaria  may  be 
filled  with  fresh  water,  and  supplied  with  fresh-water  plants 
and  animals  on  precisely  the  same  principles.  Here  snails 
and  muscles  are  a  necessity,  to  consume  the  decaying  vege- 
tation ;  and  there  is  no  limit  to  the  fish  which  may  be  intro- 
duced, among  which  we  would  mention  gold  and  silver  fish, 
perch,  carp,  pike,  trout,  eels,  and  minnows.  It  is  recommend- 
ed, however,  that  the  pike  be  small  of  his  kind,  or  the  other 
fish  will  unaccountably  disappear.  Newts  and  lizards  may 
also  be  introduced.  They  are  very  pretty  indeed,  as  they 
disport  themselves  in  a  bright  aquarium,  or  sun  themselves 
on  the  rocky  island  which  you  have  built  for  their  benefit. 
Let  every  family  which  can,  and  every  school,  have  its  aqua- 
rium.    It  will  aflbrd  amusement  and  instruction  to  all. 

1  Con-ven'-tion-al,  customary.  |  ^  RSl'-licked,  moved  about  in  a  frolicsomn 

2  Tu-reen',  a  vessel  for  holding  soup.  i      manner. 


MoL-LusKs',  animals  whose  bodies  ai'e  soft 

and  not  jointed,  bu^  which  generally  have 

a  hard  or  shelly  covering.     (See  Seventh 

Reader.) 

La'-tent,  not  visible ;  hidden. 

Selv'-EN-GEES,  street-cleaners, 


Sr'-PHON,  see  page  347. 

8  a'-ek-ate,  to  purify  by  admitting  the  air. 

9  Zo'-o-PHYTE,  an  animal  plant,  like   the 
sponge  and  coral. 

10  Cru8-ta'-ce-an  (-s/iran),  animals  like  1o1>- 
sters,  crabs,  etc.     (See  Seventh  Reader.) 


FIFTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIYISIOK 


LESSON   I. THE  GLORY    OF   THE   IMAGINATION. 

1.  The  shepherd-lad,  that  in  the  sunshine  carves, 
On  the  green  turf,  a  dial — to  divide 

The  silent  hours' ;  and  who  to  that  report 

Can  portion  out  his  pleasures,  and  adapt, 

Throughout  a  long  and  lonely  summer's  day, 

His  round  of  pastoral  duties',  is  not  left 

With  less  intelligence  for  moral  things 

Of  gravest  import.     Early  he  perceives 

Within  himself  a  measure  and  a  rule, 

Which  to  the  sun  of  truth  he  can  apply\ 

That  shines  for  him',  and  shines  for  all  mankind.* 

2.  Experience  daily  fixing  his  regards 

On  Nature's  wants,  he  knows  how  few*  they  are', 

And  where  they  lie\  how  answer'd'  and  appeased* : 

This  knowledge  ample  recompense  affords 

For  manifold  privations* ;   he  refers 

His  notions  to  this  standard* ;  on  this  rock 

Rests  his  desires* ;  and  hence,  in  after  life'. 

Soul-strengthening  jjatience  and  sublime  content. 

3.  Imagination — not  permitted  here 

To  waste  her  powers,  as  in  the  worldling's  mind, 
On  fickle  j)leasuros,  and  superfluous  cares, 


FIFTH    MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  273 

And  trivial  ostentation' — is  left  free 
And  puissant  to  range  the  solemn  walks 
Of  time  and  nature^  girded  by  a  zone 
That,  while  it  binds',  invigorates  and  supports/ 
4.    Acknowledge,  then,  that  whether  by  the  side 
Of  his  poor  hut',  or  on  the  mountain-top'. 
Or  in  the  cultur'd  field\  a  man  so  bred 
(Take  from  him  what  you  will  upon  the  score 
Of  ignorance  or  illusion)  lives  and  breathes 
For  noble  purposes  of  mind^ :  his  heart 
Beats  to  th'  heroic  song  of  ancient  days^ ; 
His  eye  distinguishes',  his  soul  creates \— Wordsworth. 


LES.  II. — SHYLOCK  :   A  SCENE   OF   CONTENDING  PASSIONS. 

1.  The  following  is  taken  from  Shakspeare's  play  of  the 
Merchant  of  Venice.  The  daughter  of  Shylock,  a  rich  and 
covetous  Jew,  had  eloped  with  Lorenzo  and  gone  to  Genoa, 
taking  with  her  some  of  her  father's  costly  jewels ;  and  Tubal, 
the  agent  of  the  Jew,  has  just  returned  from  a  fruitless  search 
after  the  runaways.  The  absence  of  his  daughter  distresses 
the  Jew,  but  the  loss  of  his  jewels  still  more ;  yet  his  grief  is 
rejieatedly  assuaged  and  changed  to  the  highest  exultation, 
as  Tubal  mentions  the  misfortunes  which  had  befallen  the 
merchant  Antonio,  to  whom  the  Jew  had  lent  money  on  a 
bond,  and  to  whom  he  owes  a  mortal  grudge. 

The  contending  passions  of  the  Jew  are  admirably  portray- 
ed here,  and  the  same  should  be  truthfully  expressed  in  the 
reading. 

Shylock.  How  now\  Tubal',  what  news  from  Genoa^  ?  Hast  thou  found 
my  daughter'  ? 

Tubal.  I  often  came  where  I  did  hear  of  her,  but  can  not  find  her. 

Shy.  Why  there,  there,  there,  there !  a  diamond  gone,  cost  me  two  thou- 
sand ducats  in  Frankfort !  The  curse  never  fell  upon  our  nation  till  now ; 
I  never  felt  it  till  now  :  two  thousand  ducats  in  that ;  and  other  precious, 
precious  jewels. — I  would  my  daughter  were  dead  at  my  foot,  and  the  jew- 
els in  her  ear !  Would  she  were  hearsed  at  my  foot,  and  the  ducats  in  her 
cofiin  !  No  news  of  them'  ? — Why,  so ; — and  I  know  not  what's  spent  in 
the  search.  Why  thou  loss  upon  loss!  the  thief  gone  with  so  much',  and 
so  much  to  find  the  thief ;  and  no  satisfaction^  no  revenge^;  nor  no  ill  luck 
stirring  but  what  lights  o'  my^  shoulders;  no  sighs^  but  o'  my^  breathing; 
no  tears^  but  o'  my^  shedding.* 

Tub.  Yes,  other  men  have  ill  luck  too:  Antonio,  as  I  heard  in  Genoa — 

Shy.  What,  what,  what'  ?  ill  luck,  ill  luck'  "i^ 

Tub.  Hath  an  argosy  cast  away,  coming  from  Tripolis. 

Shy.  I  thank  God,  I  thank  God  ! — Is  it  true'  ?  is  it  true'  ?^ 

"  Thia  is  spoken  in  a  tone  of  sobbing  grief. 

■»  Spoken  rapidly.     Shvlock  catches,  with  eager  joy,  at  the  news  of  Antonio's  ill  Inck. 

^[  2 


274 

Ttib.  I  spoke  with  some  of  the  sailors  that  escaped  the  wreck. 

Shy.  I  thank  thee,  good  Tubal : — Good  news,  good  news ;  ha  !  ha ! — 
Where  ?  in  Genoa'  ?'' 

Tub.  Your  daughter  spent  in  Genoa,  as  I  heard,  one  night,  fourscore 
ducats. 

Shy.  Thou  stick'st  a  dagger^  in  me ; — I  shall  never  see  my  gold  again. 
Fourscore  ducats  at  a  sitting^ !  fourscore  ducats*  !*^ 

Tub.  There  came  divers  of  Antonio's  creditors  in  my  company  to  Venice, 
that  swear  he  can  not  choose  but  break. 

Shy.  I  am  very  glad  of  it ;  I'll  plague  him ;  I'll  torture  him ;  I  am  glad 
of  it.*" 

Tub.  One  of  them  showed  me  a  ring  that  he  had  of  your  daughter  for  a 
monkey. 

Shy.  Out  upon  her!  Thou  torturest  me.  Tubal:  it  was  my. turquoise; 
I  had  it  of  Leah,  when  I  was  a  bachelor.  I  would  not  have  given  it  for  a 
wilderness*  of  monkeys. 

Tub.  But  Antonio  is  certainly  undone. 

Shy.  Nay,  that's  true,  that's  very  true.  Go,  Tubal,  fee  me  an  officer ; 
bespeak  him  a  fortnight  before.  I  will  have  the  heart  of  him,  if  he  forfeit ; 
for,  were  he  out  of  Venice,  I  can  make  what  merchandise  I  will.  Go,  go, 
Tubal,  and  meet  me  at  our  synagogue ;  go,  good  Tubal ;  at  our  synagogue. 
Tubal. 


LES.  III. SHYLOCK  AND  THE  MERCHANT  I   THE  TRIAL  SCENE. 

1.  The  following  is  partially  explained  in  the  preceding  les- 
son. The  merchant  Antonio  had  borrowed  from  Shylock,  for 
his  friend  Bassanio.  the  sum  of  three  thousand  ducats ;  and 
Shylock  had  caused  to  be  inserted  in  the  bond  the  condition 
that,  if  Antonio  should  fail  to  make  payment  on  a  certain  day^ 
the  merchant  should  forfeit  a  pound  of  fleshy  to  be  cut  off 
nearest  his  heart.  Owing  to  losses,  Antonio  was  unable  to 
pay  on  the  day  appointed  ;  and  although  afterward  his  friends 
offered  to  make  double,  treble,  or  quadruple  payment  to  the 
Jew,  the  latter  claimed,  as  he  had  a  right  to  by  the  strict  "law 
of  Venice,"  exact  fulfillment  of  the  bond. 

"2.  In  the  following  scene  the  parties  appear  in  court  before 
the  Duke  of  Venice ;  and  Portia,  the  wife  of  Bassanio,  a  lady 
of  high  mental  powers  and  great  goodness,  the  heiress  of  a 
princely  name  and  countless  wealth,  but  here  so  disguised,  as 
a  learned  doctor  and  judge  from  Padua,  as  to  be  unrecognized 
even  by  her  own  husband,  is  introduced,  to  counsel  with  the 
duke  in  the  administration  of  justice. 

Although  the  Jew  is  here  placed  in  a  very  odious  light,  it 
ought  not  to  be  regarded  as  any  imputation  upon  the  sect  to 
which  he  belongs. 

•  Very  mournfully  and  slowly,  but  emphatically  :  the  downward  inflection. 


FIFTH    MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  275 

Duke.  Give  me  your  hand\     Came  j'ou  from  old  Bellario'? 

Portia.  I  did,  my  lord. 

Duke.  You  are  welcome^ :  take  your  place. 
Are  you  acquainted  with  the  difference 
That  holds  this  present  question  in  the  court'  ? 

Por.  I  am  informed  thoroughly  of  the  cause. 
Which  is  the  merchant^  here,  and  which  the  Jew^  ? 

Duke.  Antonio  and  old  Shylock',  both  stand  fortli'. 

Por.  Is  your  name  Shylock'  ? 

Shylock.   Shylock  is  my  name. 

Por.  Of  a  strange  nature  is  the  suit  you  follow ; 
Yet  in  such  rule,  that  the  Venetian  law 
Can  not  impugn  you  as  you  do  proceed. 
You  stand  within  his  danger\  do  you  not' ?  {To  Antonio.) 

Antonio.  Ay,  so  he  says. 

Por.  Do  you  confess  the  bond'  ? 

Ant.  I  do. 

Por.  Then  must  the  Jew  be  merciful. 

Shi/.  On  what  compulsion'  must  I^  ?  tell'  me  that\ 

Por.  The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained^ ; 
It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath^ ;  it  is  twice^  blessed  ; 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives',  and  him  that  takes\ 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest^     It  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown^ : 
His  sceptre  slibws  the  force  of  temporal  power, 
The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty. 
Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings^ : 
But  mercy  is  above  this  sceptred  sway^ ; 
It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings* ; 
It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself ; 
And  earthly  power  doth  then  show  likest  God's 
When  mercy  seasons  justice.     Therefore^  Jew', 
Though  justice  be  thy  plea,  consider  this — 
That,  in  the  course  of  justice,  none  of  us 
Should  see  salvation*:  we  dojomy*  for  mercy; 
And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 
The  deeds^  of  mercy.     I  have  spoke  thus  much 
To  mitigate  the  justice  of  thy  plea ; 

Which  if  thou  follow,  this  strict  court  of  Venice  * 

Must  needs  give  sentence  'gainst  the  merchant  there. 

Shy.  My  deeds  upon  my  head* !     I  crave  the  law^, 
The  penalty  and  forfeit  of  my  bond\ 

Por.  Is  he  not  able  to  discharge  the  money'  ? 

Bassanio.  Yes,  here  I  tender  it  for  him  in  the  court ; 
Yea,  twice''  the  sum  ;  if  that  will  not  suffice, 
I  will  be  bound  to  pay  it  ten  times  o'er, 
On  forfeit  of  my  hands,  my  head,  my  heart : 
If  this  will  not  suffice,  it  must  appear 
That  malice  bears  down  truth.     And  I  beseech  you. 
Wrest  once  the  law  to  your  authority  : 
To  do  a  great  right,  do  a  little  wrong, 
And  curb  this  cruel  devil  of  his  will. 


276  willson's  fifth  reader. 

Por.  It  must  not  be* ;  there's  no  power  in  Venice 
Can  alter  a  decree  established* ; 
'Twill  be  recorded  for  a  precedent* ; 
And  many  an  error,  by  the  same  example, 
Will  rush  into  the  state  :  it  can  not  be. 

Shy.  A  Daniel  come  to  judgment !     Yea,  a  Daniel ! 
O  wise  young  judge,  how  do  I  honor  thee ! 

Por,  I  pray  you,  let  me  look  upon  the  bond. 

Shy.  Here  'tis,  most  reverend  doctor ;  here  it  is. 

Por.  Shylock,  there's  thrice  thy  money  offered  thee. 

Shy.  An  oath,  an  oath,  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven : 
Shall  I  lay  perjury  upon  my  soul'  ? 
No\  not  for  Venice*. 

Por.  Why,  this  bond  is  forfeit ; 
And  lawfully  by  this  the  Jew  may  claim' 
A  pound  of  flesh,  to  be  by  him  cut  oft' 
Nearest  the  merchant's  heart.     Be  mer'ciful; 
Take  thiice"  thy  money  ;  bid  me  tear^  the  bond. 

Shy.  When  it  is  paid  according  to  the  tenor. 
It  doth  appear,  you  are  a  worthy^  judge; 
You  know  the  law^ ;  your  exposition 
Hath  been  most  sound.     I  charge  you  by  the  law, 
Whereof  you  are  a  well-deserving  pillar. 
Proceed  to  judgment :  by  my  soul  I  swear, 
There  is  no  power  in  the  tongue  of  man 
To  alter  me.     I  stay  here  on  my  band". 

Ant.  Most  heartily  do  I  beseech  the  court 
To  give  the  judgment. 

Por.  Why,  then,  thus  it  is : 
You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife. 

Shy.  O  noble  judge* !     O  excellent  young  man' ! 

Por.  For  the  intent  and  purpose  of  the  law 
Hath  full  relation  to  the  penalty. 
Which  here  appeareth  due  upon  the  bond. 

Shy.  'Tis  very  true  :  O  wise  and  upright  judge  ! 
How  much  more  elder  art  thou  than  thy  looks ! 

Por.  Therefore,  lay  bare  your  bosom. 

Shy.  Ay,  his  breast ; 
So  says  the  bond — doth  it  not,  noble  judge'  ? — 
Nearest  his  heart*;  those  are  the  very  words. 

Por.  It  is  so.     Are  there  balance  here,  to  weigh 
The  flesh  ? 

Shy.  I  have  them  ready. 

Por.  Have  by  some  surgeon,  Shylock,  on  your  charge, 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed  to  death. 

Shy.  Is  it  so  nominated  in  the  bond  ? 

Por.  It  is  not  so  expressed  ;  but  what  of  that? 
'Twere  good  you  do  so  much  for  charity. 

Shy.  I  can  not  find  it ;  'tis  not  in  the  bond. 

Por.  Come,  merchant,  have  you  any  thing  to  say? 

Ant.  But  little  ;  I  am  armed,  and  well  prepared. 
Give  me  your  hand*,  Bassanio'!  fare  you  well*.' 
Grieve  not  that  I  am  fallen  to  this  for  you; 


FIFTH    MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  277 

For  herein  fortune  shows  herself  more  kind 

Than  is  her  custom :  it  is  still  her  use, 

To  let  the  wretched  man  outlive  his  wealth^ ; 

To  view,  with  hollow  eye  and  wrinkled  brow, 

An  age  of  poverty^ ;  from  which  lingering  penance 

Of  such  misery  doth  she  cut  me  oif. 

Commend  me  to  your  honorable  wife^ : 

Tell  her  the  process  of  Antonio's  end^ ; 

Say,  how  I  loved^  you ;  speak  me  fair  in  death  ; 

And,  when  the  tale  is  told',  bid  her  be  judge, 

Whether  Bassanio  had  not  once  a  love. 

liepent  not  you  that  you  shall  lose  your  friend^ ; 

And  he  repents  not  that  he  pays  your  debt^ ; 

For,  if  the  Jew  do  cut  but  deep  enough', 

I'll  pay  it  instantly  with  all  my  heart. 

Por.  A  pound  of  that  same  merchant's  flesh  is  thine  ; 
The  court  awards  it',  and  the  law  doth  give^  it. 

Shj.  Most  rightful  judge ! 

Por.  And  you  must  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast ; 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 

Shy.  Most  learned  judge !     A  sentence  !  come,  prepare. 

Poi-.  Tarry  a  little — there  is  something  else — 
This  bond  doth  give  thee  here  no  jot  of  blood  ; 
The  words  expressly  are,  a  pound  of  flesh. 
Take  then  thy  bond  ;  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh ; 
But,  in  the  cutting  it,  if  thou  dost  shed 
One  drop  of  Christian  blood,  thy  lands  and  goods 
Are,  by  the  laws  of  Venice,  confiscate 
Unto  the  state  of  Venice. 

Gratiano.  O  upright  judge  ! — Mark,  Jew ! — O  learned  judge  1 

Shy.  Is  that  the  law  ? 

Por.  Thyself  shall  see  the  act : 
For,  as  thou  urgest  justice,  be  assured 
Thou  shalt  have  justice,  more  than  thou  desirest. 

Gra.  O  learned  judge ! — Mark,  Jew  ! — a  learned  judge ! 

Shy.  I  take  this  offer,  then :  pay  the  bond  thrice, 
And  let  the  Christian  go. 

Bas.  Here  is  the  money. 

Por.   Soft; 
The  Jew  shall  have  all  justice — soft ! — no  haste — 
He  shall  have  nothing  but  the  penalty. 

Gra.  O  Jew  !  an  upright  judge !  a  learned  judge ! 

Por.  Therefore  prepare  thee  to  cut  off  the  flesh. 
Shed  thou  no  blood  ;  nor  cut  thou  less,  nor  more. 
But  a  just  pound  of  flesh.     If  thou  takest  more. 
Or  less  than  just  a  pound — be  it  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light  or  heavy  in  the  substance', 
Or  the  division  of  the  twentieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple' — nay,  if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair' — 
Thou  diest\  and  all  thy  goods  are  confiscate. 

Gra.  A  second  Daniel — a  Daniel,  Jew  I 
Now,  infidel,  I  have  thee  on  the  hip. 


278  WILLSON  S   FIFTU   KEADEIi. 

Por.  Why  doth  the  Jew  pause'  ?  take  thy  forfeiture. 

Shy.  Give  me  my  principal,  and  let  me  go. 

Bas.  I  have  it  ready  for  thee  ;  here  it  is. 

Por.  He  hath  refused  it  in  the  open  court; 
He  shall  have  merely  justice,  and  his  bond. 

Gra.  A  Daniel,  still  say  I !  a  second  Daniel ! 
I  thank  thee,  Jew,  for  teaching  me  that  word. 

Shy.  Shall  I  not  have  barely  my  principal'  ? 

Por.  Thou  shalt  have  nothing  but  the  forfeiture, 
To  be  so  taken  at  thy  peril,  Jew. 

Shy.  Why,  then  the  devil  give  him  good  of  it ! 
I'll  stay  no  longer  question. 

Por.  Tarry,* Jew; 
The  law  hath  yet  another  hold  on  you. 
It  is  enacted  in  the  laws  of  Venice, 
If  it  be  proved  against  an  alien, 
That,  by  direct  or  indirect  attempts, 
He  seek  the  life  of  any  citizen. 
The  party,  'gainst  the  which  he  doth  contrive, 
Shall  seize  one  half  his  goods ;  the  other  half 
Comes  to  the  privy  coffer  of  the  state ; 
And  the  offender's  life  lies  in  the  mercy 
Of  the  duke  only,  'gainst  all  other  voice. 
In  which  predicament,  I  say,  thou  standest ; 
For  it  appears,  by  manifest  proceeding. 
That  indirectly,  and  directly  too, 
Thou  hast  contrived  against  the  very  life 
Of  the  defendant ;  and  thou  hast  incurred 
The  danger  formerly  by  me  rehearsed. 
Down,  therefore,  and  beg  mercy  of  the  duke. 

Gra.  Beg,  that  thou  may'st  have  leave  to  hang  thyself; 
And  yet,  thy  wealth  being  forfeit  to  the  state. 
Thou  hast  not  left  the  value  of  a  cord  ; 
Therefore  thou  must  be  hanged  at  the  state's  charge. 

Duke.  That  thou  shalt  see  the  difference  of  our  spirit, 
I  pardon  thee  thy  life  before  thou  ask  it. 
For  half  thy  wefalth,  it  is  Antonio's ; 
The  other  half  comes  to  the  general  state. 


LES.   IV. — THE   CHARACTER   OF   PORTIA,  AS   DISPLAYED   IN 
THE   TRIAL   SCENE. 

1.  All  the  finest  points  of  Portia's  character  are  brought 
to  bear  in  the  trial  scene  which  we  have  just  read.  There  she 
shines  forth  all  her  divine  self.  Her  intellectual  powers,  her 
liigh  honorable  principles,  lier  best  feelings  as  a  woman,  are 
all  displayed.  She  maintains  at  first  a  calm  self-command,  as 
one  sure  of  carrying  her  point  in  the  end ;  yet  the  painful, 
heart-thrilling  uncertainty  in  which  she  keeps  the  whole  court, 


FIFTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  279 

until  suspense  verges  upon  agony,  is  not  for  effect  merely  ;  it 
is  necessary  and  inevitable. 

2.  She  has  two  objects  in  view :  to  deliver  her  husband's 
friend,  and  to  maintain  her  husband's  honor  by  the  discharge 
of  his  just  debt,  though  paid  out  of  her  own  wealth  ten  times 
over.  She  must  be  understood,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end,  as  examining  with  intense  anxiety  the  effect  of  her  words 
on  the  mind  and  countenance  of  the  Jew ;  as  watching  for 
that  relenting  spirit  which  she  hopes  to  awaken  either  by  rea- 
son or  persuasion. 

3.  She  begins  by  an  appeal  to  his  mercy,  in  that  matchless 
piece  of  eloquence  which,  with  an  irresistible  and  solemn 
pathos,  falls  upon  the  heart  like  "  gentle  dew  from  heaven :" 
but  in  vain;  for  that  blessed  dew  drops  not  more  fruitless 
and  unfelt  on  the  parched  sand  of  the  desert  than  do  these 
heavenly  words  upon  the  ear  of  Shylock.  She  next  attacks 
his  avarice : 

"  Shylock,  there's  thrice  thy  money  offered  thee!" 

Then  she  appeals,  in  the  same  breath,  both  to  his  avarice  and 
his  pity : 

"  Be  mer^ciful ! 
Take  thrice^  thy  money.    Bid  me  tear"'  the  bond." 

4.  All  that  she  says  afterward — her  strong  expressions, 
which  are  calculated  to  strike  a  shuddering  horror  through 
the  nerves — the  reflections  she  interposes — her  delays  and 
circumlocution,  to  give  time  for  any  latent  feeling  of  com- 
miseration to  display  itself — all,  all  are  premeditated,  and  tend 
in  the  same  manner  to  the  object  she  has  in  view.     Thus : 

"  You  must  prepare  your  bosom  for  his  knife. 
Therefore  lay  bare  your  bosom  !" 

These  two  speeches,  though  apparently  addressed  to  Antonio, 
are  spoken  at  Shylock,  and  are  evidently  intended  to  pene- 
trate his  bosom.  In  the  same  spirit  she  asks  for  the  balance 
to  weigh  the  pound  of  flesh,  and  entreats  of  Shylock  to  have 
a  surgeon  ready : 

"  Have  by  some  surgeon\  Shylock',  on  your  charge, 
To  stop  his  wounds,  lest  he  do  bleed^  to  death ! 

Shylock.  Is  it  so  nominated  in  the  bond'  ? 

Portia.  It  is  not  so  expressed— but  what  of  that^  ? 
'Twere  good  you  do  so  much,  for  charity^.'" 

5.  So  unwilling  is  her  sanguine  and  generous  spirit  to  re- 
sign all  hope,  or  to  believe  that  humanity  is  absolutely  ex- 
tinct in  the  bosom  of  the  Jew,  that  she  calls  on  Antonio,  as 
a  last  resource,  to  speak  for  himself  His  gentle,  yet  manly 
resignation — the  deep  pathos  of  his  farewell,  and  the  affec- 
tionate allusion  to  herself  in  his  last  address  to  Bassanio — 


280  willson's  fifth  reader. 

"  Commend  me  to  your  honorable  wife^ ! 
Say  how  I  loved^  you,  speak  me  fair  in  death,"  etc. — 

are  well  calculated  to  swell  that  emotion  which,  through  the 
whole  scene,  must  have  been  laboring  supj^ressed  within  her 
heart. 

6.  At  length  the  crisis  arrives,  for  patience  and  womanhood 
can  endure  no  longer ;  and  when  Shylock,  carrying  his  savage 
bent  *'  to  the  last  hour  of  act,"  springs  on  his  victim — "  A  sen- 
tence! come,  prepare!"  then  the  smothered  scorn,  indigna- 
tion, and  disgust  burst  forth  with  an  impetuosity  which  inter- 
fere with  the  judicial  solemnity  she  had  at  first  afiected,  par- 
ticularly in  the  speech, 

*■'  Therefore  prepare  thee  to  cut  off  the  flesh. 
Shed  thou  no  blood ;  nor  cut  thou  less,  nor  more. 
But  just  a  pound  of  flesh :  if  thou  tak'st  more, 
Or  less,  than  a  just  pound — be  it  but  so  much 
As  makes  it  light  or  heavy  in  the  substance', 
<  )r  the  division  of  the  twenj;ieth  part 
Of  one  poor  scruple^ ;  nay,    if  the  scale  do  turn 
But  in  the  estimation  of  a  hair\ 
Thou  diesV^  and  all  thy  goods  arc  confiscate." 

But  she  afterward  recovers  her  propriety,  and  triumphs  with 
a  cooler  scorn  and  a  more  self-possessed  exultation. 

7.  It  is  clear  that,  to  feel  the  full  force  and  dramatic  beauty 
of  this  marvelous  scene,  we  must  go  along  with  Portia  as 
well  as  with  Shylock ;  we  must  understand  her  concealed 
purpose,  keep  in  mind  her  noble  motives,  and  j^ursue  in  our 
fancy  the  under-current  of  feeling  working  in  her  mind 
throughout.  The  terror  and  the  power  of  Shylock's  charac- 
ter— his  deadly  and  inexorable  malice — would  be  too  oppress- 
ive, the  pain  and  pity  too  intolerable,  and  the  horror  of  the 
possible  issue  too  overwhelming,  but  for  the  intellectual  re- 
lief afforded  by  this  double  source  of  interest  and  contem- 
plation.— Mrs.  Jameson. 


LESSON  V. — ^TiiE  PHiLOSOPnER's  scales. 

1.  A  MONK,  when  his  rites  sacerdotal  were  o'er, 

In  the  depth  of  his  cell  with  his  stone-covered  floor. 
Resigning  to  thought  his  chimerical  brain, 
Once  formed  the  contrivance  we  now  shall  explain  ; 
But  whether  by  magic's  or  alchemy's  powers 
We  know  not ;  indeed,  'tis  no  business  of  ours. 

2.  Perhaps  it  was  only  by  patience  and  care, 

At  last,  that  he  brought  his  invention  to  bear : 

In  youth  'twas  projected,  but  years  stole  away, 

And  ere  'twas  complete  he  was  wrinkled  and  gray ; 

But  success  is  secure  unless  energy  fails ; 

And,  at  length,  he  produced  the  philosopher's  scales. 


FIFTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  281 

3.  "What  were  they^  ?"  you  ask ;  you  shall  presently  see  : 
These  scales  were  not  made  to  weigh  sugar  and  tea  ; 
Oh  no ;  for  sucli  properties  wondrous  had  they, 

That  qualities,  feelings,  and  thoughts  they  could  weigh  ; 
Together  with  ai'ticles  small  or  immense, 
From  mountains  or  planets  to  atoms  of  sense. 

4.  Naught  was  there  so  bulky  but  there  it  would  lay, 
And  naught  so  ethereal  but  thei'e  it  would  stay, 
And  naught  so  reluctant  but  in  it  must  go — 

All  which  some  examples  more  clearly  will  show. 

5.  The  first  thing  he  weighed  was  the  head  of  Voltaire, 
Which  retained  all  the  wit  that  had  ever  been  there ; 
As  a  weight,  he  threw  in  a  torn  scrap  of  a  leaf, 
Containing  the  prayer  of  the  penitent  thief; 

When  the  skull  rose  aloft  with  so  sudden  a  spell, 
That  it  bounced  like  a  ball  on  the  roof  of  the  cell. 

6.  One  time  he  put  in  Alexander  the  Great, 

With  the  garment  that  Dorcas  had  made,  for  a  weighf, 
And,  though  clad  in  armor  from  sandals  to  crown, 
The  hero  rose  up,  and  the  garment  went  down. 

7.  A  long  row  of  alms-houses,  amply  endowed 
By  a  well-esteemed  Pharisee,  busy  and  proud. 
Next  loaded  one  scale ;  while  the  other  was  pressed 
By  those  mites  the  poor  widow  dropped  into  the  chesf  ; 
Up  flew  the  endowment,  not  weighing  an  ounce, 

And  down,  down  the  farthing-worth  came  with  a  bounce.  • 

8.  By  further  experiments  (no  matter  how^. 

He  found  that  ten  chariots  weighed  less  than  one  plow  ; 
A  sword  with  gilt  trapping  rose  up  in  the  scale. 
Though  balanced  by  only  a  tenpenny  nail ; 
A  shield  and  a  helmet,  a  buckler  and  spear, 
Weighed  less  than  a  widow's  uncrystallized  tear. 

9.  A  lord  and  a  lady  went  up  at  full  sail. 

When  a  bee  chanced  to  light  on  the  opposite  scale  ; 
Ten  doctors,  ten  lawyers,  two  courtiers,  one  earl, 
Ten  counselors'  wigs,  full  of  powder  and  curl, 
All  heaped  in  one  balance  and  swinging  from  thence. 
Weighed  less  than  a  few  grains  of  candor  and  sens?  ; 
A  first  water  diamond,  with  brilliants  begirt, 
Than  one  good  potato  just  washed  from  the  dirt ; 
Yet  not  mountains  of  silver  and  gold  could  suffice 
One  pearl  to  outweigh — 'twas  the  pearl  of  great  price. 
10.  Last  of  all,  the  whole  world  was  bowled  in  at  the  grate. 
With  the  soul  of  a  beggar  to  serve  for  a  weight. 
When  the  former  sprang  up  with  so  strong  a  rebufl'. 
That  it  made  a  vast  rent  and  escaped  at  the  roof! 
When  balanced  in  air,  it  ascended  on  high. 
And  sailed  up  aloft,  a  balloon  in  the  sky  ; 
While  the  scale  with  the  soul  in  't  so  mightily  fell, 
That  it  jerked  the  philosopher  out  of  his  cell. — Jane  Taylor. 


282 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   READER. 


Part  VI. 


Part  VI.  CIVIL  akchitecture.  283 


PAET  VL 

CIYIL  AECHITECTUEE. 

LESSON"   I. — GRECIAN   AND    ROMAN   ARCHITECTURE. 

1.  Architecture  is  the  art  of  contriving  and  constructing 
buildings ;  and,  when  the  term  is  used  without  a  quahfying 
adjective,  the  designing  and  building  of  civil  and  religious 
edifices,  such  as  palaces,  mansions,  theatres,  churches,  courts, 
bridges,  etc.,  is  intended ;  and  it  is  called  civil,  to  distinguish 
it  from  naval  and  military  architecture. 

2.  The  architecture  of  the  Greeks,  and  of  their  successors 
the  Romans,  is  generally  divided  into  certain  orders^  whose 
names  characterize  the  several  modes  in  which  these  people 
constructed  the  fagades,^  or  fronts  of  their  temples.  Thus  the 
Greeks  had  three  prominent  orders  or  styles  of  architecture, 
the  Doric,  the  Ionic,  and  the  Corinthian ;  each  of  which,  as 
may  be  seen  on  the  opposite  page,  may  be  represented  by  a 
single  column,  together  with  the  base  or  platform  on  which  it 
rests,  and  the  roof-like  covering  which  it  aids  in  supporting. 

3.  Certain  definite  proportions,  supposed  to  combine  the 
highest  degree  of  grace  and  beauty,  were  assigned  to  each. 
The  crowning  superstructure  of  an  order  is  called  the  entab- 
lature,2  and  is  divided  into  architrave,^  frieze,*  and  cornice  (see 
opposite  page).  The  Doric  order,  jis  used  by  the  Greeks,  and 
as  seen  in  its  best  specimen,  the  famous  Parthenon,  or  Temple 
of  Minerva,  at  Athens,  was  without  a  base  ;  yet  the  Romans 
not  only  gave  it  a  base,  but,  changing  some  of  its  features,  they 
constructed  from  it  another  order,  called  the  Tuscan. 

4.  TheTb/izc,  the  second  of  the  Grecian  orders,  not  only  has 
a  base,  and  a  capital  and  entablature  difiering  from  the  Doric, 
but  the  shaft  of  its  column  is  lighter  and  more  graceful  in  its 
proportions.  The  volutes,  or  curves  of  its  capital,  introduce 
a  new  element  of  beauty.  Their  design  is  said  by  some  to 
have  been  suggested  by  the  curls  of  hair  on  each  side  of  the 
human  face,  and  by  others  to  have  been  taken  from  the  curl- 
ing of  the  bark  of  a  rude  upright  post,  caused  by  a  crushing 
weight  laid  upon  it. 

5.  The  third  Grecian  order  is  the  ornate  Gormthian,  which 
is  conspicuous  for  the  beauty  of  its  capital,  and  the  exceeding 
grace  and  symmetry  of  all  its  parts.     The  invention  of  this 


284  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  VI. 

order  is  attributable  to  Callimachus,^  an  Athenian  sculptor  of 
the  age  of  Pericles,  who  is  said  to  have  had  the  idea  of  its 
capital  suggested  to  him  by  observing  acanthus  leaves  grow- 
ing  around  a  basket  which  had  been  placed,  with  some  favor- 
ite trinkets,  upon  the  grave  of  a  young  Corinthian  lady — the 
tops  of  the  leaves,  and  the  stalks  which  arose  among  them, 
having  been  turned  down  and  formed  into  slender  volutes  by 
a  square  tile  which  covered  the  basket. 

6.  The  Corinthian  order  was  the  one  most  extensively  em- 
ployed by  the  Romans  in  their  public  buildings ;  but  they 
loaded  every  member  with  ornaments  unknown  to  the  invent- 
ors. They  also  combined  the  Ionic  and  the  Corinthian,  and 
formed  a  fifth  order,  which  they  ornamented  to  profusion,  and 
named  the  Co')nposite.  Its  chief  distinguishing  feature  is  the 
capital,  which  has  four  volutes,  presenting  the  same  face  in 
four  directions.     (Seep.  282.) 

7.  But  to  one  important  feature  in  architecture  the  Romans 
appear  to  have  indubitable  claim,  and  tliat  is  the  arch.  It  is 
generally  believed  that  the  ancient  Egyptians,  Persians,  and 
Hindoos  were  entirely  ignorant  of  its  construction ;  and  it 
seems  probable  that  the  Greeks  knew  nothing  of  it  previous 
to  the  Roman  conquest — certain  it  is  they  knew  not  its  ad- 
vantages in  architecture.  The  Romans  made  great  use  of  it 
in  their  temples,  in  their  famous  aqueducts,  and  their  triumph- 
al arches ;  and  when  Ave  now  characterize  any  architecture  as 
decidedly  JRoman^  reference  is  had  to  that  feature  which  is 
denoted  by  the  perfected  arch,  or  dome. 

8.  What  is  known  as  Gothic  architecture  sprung  up  in  the 
Gothic  nations  of  Europe  when  Christianity  was  introduced 
among  them,  and  was  generally  used  in  church  edifices  dur- 
ing the  Middle  Ages.  Based  upon  the  Roman  style,  it  adopt- 
ed the  rounded  or  semicircular  arch  as  its  distinguishing  fea- 
ture, and  was  at  first  exceedingly  clumsy  in  form  ;  but  as  a 
taste  for  the  fine  arts  began  to  show  itself,  architecture  as- 
sumed a  difterent  and  novel  aspect ;  the  plain  rounded  arch 
gave  place  to  a  more  pointed  form  and  quaint  mouldings  ;  tall 
spires  crowned  the  structure ;  windows  of  stained  glass  shed 
gorgeous  lights  over  the  profuse  decorations  of  the  interior ; 
and  the  Gothic  or  Christian  style  was  at  length  perfected,  as 
scientific  in  its  principles  as  it  was  grand  and  imposing  in  ap- 
pearance.    (See  p.  289.) 

1  Fa-oXde'  (fa-sdde').  I     ♦  FbiEze  (freez). 

2  Kn-TAH'-I-A-TCEK  I       *    CAL-IJM'-A-rntJS. 
'    XEru'-T-T«\VK.  I 


Part  YI. 


CIVIL   AECHITECTUKE. 


285 


LESSON"   II. — ATHENIAN   ARCHITECTURE   pURING   THE   AGE 
OF   PERICLES. 

BULWER. 

[The  "  Age  of  Pericles"  embraced  the  latter  half  of  the  fifth  century  before  Christ,  when 
Pericles,  at  the  head  of  Athenian  affair,-*,  raised  Athens  to  the  summit  of  her  renown.  It 
was  during  this  period  tJfet  most  of  those  famous  structures  which  crowned  the  Athenian 
Acropolis,  or  surrounded  its  base,  were  either  built  or  adorned  by  the  direction  of  Pericles, 
uiider  the  superintendence  of  the  sculptor  Phidias^  '1  he  most  famous  of  all  these  was  the 
Parthenon^  which  crowned  the  summit  of  the  Acropolis,  and  whose  ruins  are  seen  in  the 
annexed  engraving.  The  following  extract  from  Bulwer's  Athens  will  convey  to  the  reader 
a  vivid  idea  of  the  unrivaled  grace  and  elegance  of  the  Athenian  edifices  of  the  time  of 
Pericles.     See  Historical  Part,  p.  507  ] 


Modern  Athens.— The  above  is  a  south  view  of  Athens  in  its  present  state,  from  the 
left  bank  of  the  Ilissus,  showing  the  Athenian  Acropolis  in  the  distance,  surmounted  by 
the  ruins  of  the  Parthenon  in  the  centre.     See  also  p.  308. 

1.  Then  rapidly  progressed  those  glorious  fabrics  which 
seemed,  as  Plutarch  gracefully  expresses  it,  endowed  with 
the  bloom  of  a  perennial  youth.  Still  the  houses  of  private 
citizens  remained  simple  and  imadorned,  still  the  streets  were 
narrow  and  irregular ;  and  even  centuries  after,  a  stranger  en- 
tering Athens  would  not  at  first  have  recognized  the  claims 
of  the  mistress  of  Grecian  art.  But  to  the  homeliness  of  her 
common  thoroughfares  and  private  mansions,  the  magnifi- 
cence of  her  public  edifices  now  made  a  dazzling  contrast. 
The  Acropolis,  that  towered  above  the  homes  and  thorough- 


286  wlllson's  fifth  eeader.  Pabt  VI. 

fares  of  men — a  spot  too  sacred  for  human  habitation — be- 
came, to  use  a  proverbial  phrase,  "  a  city  of  the  gods."  The 
citizen  was  every  where  to  be  reminded  of  the  majesty  of  the 
State — his  patriotism  was  to  be  increased  by  the  pride  in  her 
beauty — his  taste  to  be  elevated  by  the  spectacle  of  her  splen- 
dor. * 

2.  Thus  flocked  to  Athens  all  who,  throughout  Greece, 
were  eminent  in  art.  Sculptors  and  architects  vied  with 
each  other  in  adorning  the  young  empress  of  the  seas ;  then 
rose  the  master-pieces  of  Phidias,^  of  Canicrates,^  of  Mnesi- 
cles,3  which,  either  in  their  broken  remains  or  in  the  feeble 
copies  of  imitators  less  inspired,  still  command  so  intense  a 
wonder,  and  furnish  models  so  immortal.  And  if,  so  to 
speak,  their  bones  and  relics  excite  our  awe  and  envy,  as  tes- 
tifying of  a  lovelier  and  grander  race,  which  the  deluge  of 
time  has  swept  away,  what,  in  that  day,  must  have  been  their 
brilliant  effect — unmutilated  in  their  fair  proportions — fresh 
in  all  their  lineaments  and  hues  ?  For  their  beauty  was  not 
limited  to  the  symmetry  of  arch  and  column,  nor  their  mate- 
rials confined  to  the  marbles  of  Pentelicus"^  and  Paros.^  Even 
the  exterior  of  the  temples  glowed  with  the  richest  harmony 
of  colors,  and  was  decorated  with  the  purest  gold ;  an  atmos- 
phere peculiarly  favorable  both  to  the  display  and  the  pres- 
ervation of  art,  permitted  to  external  pediments®  and  friezes'' 
all  the  minuteness  of  ornament,  all  the  brilliancy  of  colors, 
such  as  in  the  interior  of  Italian  churches  may  yet  be  seen ; 
vitiated,  in  the  last,  by  a  gaudy  and  barbarous  taste. 

3.  Nor  did  the  Athenians  spare  any  cost  upon  the  works 
that  were,  like  the  tombs  and  tripods  of  their  heroes,  to  be 
the  monuments  of  a  nation  to  distant  ages,  and  to  transmit 
the  most  irrefragable^  proof  "that  the  power  of  ancient  Greece 
was  not  an  idle  legend."  The  whole  democracy  Avere  ani- 
mated with  the  passion  of  Pericles;  and  when  Phidias  recom- 
mended marble  as  a  cheaper  material  than  ivory  for  the  great 
statue  of  Minerva,  it  was  for  that  reason  that  ivory  Avas  pre- 
ferred by  the  unanimous  voice  of  the  assembly.  Thus,  wheth- 
er it  were  extravagance  or  magnificence,  the  blame  in  one 
case,  the  admiration  in  another,  rests  not  more  with  the  min- 
ister than  the  populace.  It  was,  indeed,  the  great  character- 
istic of  those  works  that  they  were  entirely  the  creation  of  the 
people:  without  the  people  Pericles  could  not  have  built  a 
temple  or  engaged  a  sculptor.  The  miracles  of  that  day  re- 
sulted from  the  enthusiasm  of  a  population  yet  young — full 
of  the  first  ardor  for  the  beautiful — dedicating  to  the  state,  as 


Part  VI. 


CIVIL  ARCHITECTURE. 


2sr 


to  a  mistress,  the  trophies  honorably  won  or  the  treasures  in- 
juriously extorted — and  uniting  the  resources  of  a  nation  with 
the  energy  of  an  individual,  because  the  toil,  the  cost,  were 
borne  by  those  who  succeeded  to  the  enjoyment  and  arrogated 
the  glory. 


1  Phid'-i-a8  was  a  celebrated  sculptor  of  Ath- 
ens, whom  Pericles  appointed  superintend- 
ent of  all  the  public  works,  both  of  archi- 
tecture and  statuary. 

2  Cal-li€'-ra-te5s,  in  conjunction  with  Icti- 
nus,  built  the  Parthenon  at  Athens. 

3  Mn£s'-T-€les,  a  celebrated  architect,  born 
a  slave  in  the  house  of  Pericles. 

*  Pen-tel'-i-€tj8,  a  mountain  of  Attica,  con- 
taining quarries  of  beautiful  marble. 

*  Pa'-bos,  an  island  in  the  Grecian  Archi- 


pelago, famous  for  the  "  Parian  marble" 
which  the  Greeks  used  for  statuary. 

6  Ped'-i-jiekt,  an  ornament  that  crowns  the 
front  of  buildings,  and  serves  as  a  decora- 
tion over  gates,  windows,  etc. 

7  Frieze  {freez),  that  part  of  the  en-t.?b'- 
la-tCke  between  the  ARCii'-i-TRivB  and 
cok'-nice  (knr'-ms).     See  p.  '282. 

9  Ir-ref'-ba-qa-ble,  that  can  not  be  refuted; 
indisputable. 


LESSON   III. — RUINS   OF  THE  COLISe'uM   at  ROME. 


Abchks  on  arches  !  as  it  were  that  Rome, 
Collecting  the  chief  trophies  of  her  line, 
Would  build  up  all  her  triumphs  in  one  dome, 
Her  Coliseum  stands ;  the  moonbeams  shine 
As  'twere  its  natural  torches,  for  divine 
Should  be  the  light  which  streams  here,  to  illumj 
This  long  explored  but  still  exhaustless  mine 
Of  contemplation :  and  the  azure  gloom 
Of  an  Italian  night,  where  the  deep  skies  assume 
Hues  which  have  words,  and  speak  to  ye  of  heaven, 
Floats  o'er  this  vast  and  wondrous  monument, 


288  WILLSON's  fifth  reader.  Part  VI. 

And  shadows  forth  its  glory.    There  is  given 
Unto  the  things  of  earth,  which  Time  hath  bent, 
A  Bpirit's  feeling ;  and  where  he  hath  leant 
His  hand,  but  broke  his  scythe,  there  is  a  power 
And  magic  in  the  ruin'd  battlement, 
For  which  the  palace  of  the  pres^ent  hour 
Must  yield  its  pomp,  and  wait  till  ages  are  its  dower. — Bteon. 

2.  Ill  the  open  space  between  the  Esquiline  and  Palatine 
Hills  are  to  be  seen  the  ruins  of  the  Colise'um,  or  Flavian  Am- 
phitheatre, as  they  are  represented  in  the  engraving  at  the 
head  of  this  lesson.  This  gigantic  edifice,  the  boast  of  Rome 
and  of  the  world,  which  was  begun  by  Vespasian  and  com- 
pleted by  Titus,  is  in  form  an  ellipse,  and  covers  an  area  of 
about  five  and  a  half  acres.  The  external  elevation  consisted 
of  four  stories — each  of  the  three  lower  stories  having  eighty 
arches  supported  by  half  columns,  Doric  in  the  first  range, 
Ionic  in  the  second,  and  Corinthian  in  the  third.  The  wall 
of  the  fourth  story  was  faced  with  Corinthian  pilasters,^  and 
lighted  by  forty  rectangular  windows.  Tlie  space  surround- 
ing the  central  arena  within  the  walls  was  occupied  with  slop- 
ing galleries,  rising  one  above  another,  resting  on  a  huge  mass 
of  arches,  and  ascending  toward  the  summit  of  the  external 
wall.  One  hundred  and  sixty  staircases  led  to  the  galleries, 
and  an  immense  movable  awning  covered  the  whole. 

3.  Within  the  area  of  the  Coliseum  gladiators,  martyrs, 
slaves,  and  wild  beasts  combated  during  the  Roman  festivals; 
and  here  the  bloo,d  of  both  men  and  animals  flowed  in  tor- 
rents to  furnish  amusement  to  the  degenerate  Romans.  This 
famous  structure  is  now  partially  in  ruins ;  scarcely  a  half  pre- 
sents its  original  height ;  the  uppermost  gallery  has  disappear- 
ed ;  the  second  range  is  much  broken  ;  but  the  lowest  is  near- 
ly perfect.  From  its  enormous  mass  "  walls,  palaces,  half  cit- 
ies have  been  reared ;"  but  Benedict  XIV.  put  a  stop  to  its 
destruction  by  consecrating  the  whole  to  the  martyrs  whose 
blood  had  been  spilled  there.  In  the  middle  of  the  once  bloody 
arena  stands  a  crucifix,  and  around  this,  at  equal  distances, 
fourteen  altars,  consecrated  to  different  saints,  are  erected  on 
the  dens  once  occupied  by  wild  beasts. 

4.  Byron  has  described,  in  appropriate  lines,  "the  Coliseum 
at  midnight ;"  and  an  American  writer  has  given  a  much-ad- 
mired sketch  of  the  same  "by  moonlight."  The  latter  says, 
"It  is  the  monarch,  the  majesty  of  all  ruins;  there  is  nothing 
like  it.  Though  a  mournful  and  desolate  spectacle  as  seen 
from  within — without,  and  especially  on  the  side  which  is  in 
best  preservation,  it  is  glorious." 

1  P?-i.A8'-TKU8  are  square  columns,  usually  set  within  wall",  and  pr.  ;ortinr-  "^nlv  r.n.>  nimr- 
ter  of  their  diameter. 


Pakt  VI. 


CIVIL   AKCHITECTUKi:. 


289 


GOTHIC  AECHITECTUKE. 

LES.   TV. — CASTLES   AND   ABBEYS    OF   FEUDAL   TIMES. 


12  3 

1.  Double  semicircular  Saxon-Nonuan  arch,  from  window  of  St.  Alban's  Abbey,  A.D. 
1100.  2.  Double  lancet-pointed  arch,  from  window  of  Salisbury  Cathedral,  A.D.  1260.  3. 
Window  of  Exeter  Cathedral,  compound  ogee  arch,  with  compound-curve  tracery,  A.D. 
1400.  The  figures  4,  5, 6, 7,  8, 9,  show  the  gradual  advance  from  the  simple  to  the  more 
elaborate  forms  exhibited  in  the  spires  of  Gothic  edifices. 

1.  Enraptiteed  have  I  loved  to  roam, 
A  lingering  votary,  'neath  vaulted  dome. 
Where  the  tall  shafts,  that  mount  in  massy  pride, 
Their  mingling  branches  shoot  from  side  to  side; 
Where  elfin^  sculptors,  with  fantastic  clew,2 
O'er  the  long  roof  their  wild  embroideiy  drew ; 
Where  superstition,  with  capricious  hand. 

In  many  a  maze  the  wreathed  window  plann'd, 
Witli  hues  romantic  tinged  the  gorgeous  pane, 
To  fill  with  holy  light  the  wondrous  fane.  3 

2.  Long  have  I  loved  to  catch  the  simple  chime 
Of  minstrel  harps,  and  spell  the  fabling  rhyme; 
To  view  the  festive  rites,  the  knightly  play. 
That  deck'd  heroic  Albion's*  elder  day; 

To  mark  tlic  mouldering  halls  of  barons  bold, 
And  the  rough  castles,  cast  in  giant  mould  ; 
With  Gothic  manners  Gothic  arts  explore. 
And  muse  on  the  magnificence  t)f  yore. — Wabton. 

3.  The  castles  and  abbeys  of  feudal  times,  which  were  c^iief- 
ly  of  Gothic  architecture,  with  either  rounded  or  pointed  arch- 
es, pointed  spires,  and  massive  walls,  enter  so  much  into  the 


290  willson's  fifth  kjader.  Pabt  VI. 

modern  hi&tory  and  literature  of  Europe,  that  every  student 
must  have  connected  with  them,  through  his  varied  reading, 
associations  of  lively  interest.  It  is  true  that  their  graver 
history — in  the  times  "  when  might  made  right" — when  tur- 
bulence and  faction  were  in  the  ascendant — presents  frequent 
scenes  of  tyranny  and  injustice;  but  with  these,  as  a  glad  re- 
lief, are  associated  a  thousand  pleasing  and  faithful  pictures 
of  social  life. 

4.  It  was  in  the  Gothic  palaces,  castles,  abbeys,  halls,  and 
manor-houses  of  England  especially,  our  mother  country,  that 
both  religious  festivals  and  feats  of  chivalry  were  celebrated 
in  all  their  splendor.  It  was  there  that  the  noble  host  col- 
lected around  him  his  friends  and  retainers;  that  the  walls 
Mere  hung  with  banners ;  that  steel-clad  warders  paced  the 
battlements ;  that  the  sound  of  the  horn  summoned  the  guests 
from  the  "  joust"^  or  the  chase  ;  and  that  the  "  wandering 
harper"  sang  those  romantic  and  heroic  ballads  at  which  the 
young  caught  fire,  and  the  old  threw  aside  the  weight  of 
years.  An  English  writer,  who  has  prepared  a  richly-illus- 
trated work  on  "  The  Castles  and  Abbeys  of  England,"  thus 
speaks  of  these  "  fixed  landmarks  in  England's  history :" 

5,  "We  linger  in  the  feudal  court,  and  muse  in  the  deserted  sanctuary, 
with  emotions  which  we  can  hardly  define :  in  the  one  our  patriotism  gath- 
ers strength  and  decision ;  in  the  other,  that  piety,  of  which  it  is  the  out- 
ward evidence,  sheds  a  warmer  ijifluence  on  the  heart.  We  traverse  the 
apartments  that  once  contained  the  noble  founders  of  our  national  free- 
dom, the  venerable  and,  intrepid  champions  of  our  faith,  the  revered 
fathers  of  our  literature,  witli  a  feeling  which  amounts  to  almost  devotion. 
We  turn  aside  to  tlie  mouldering  gates  of  our  ancestors  as  a  pilgrim  turns 
to  some  favorite  shrino ;  to  those  ruins  which  were  the  cradles  of  liberty, 
the  residence  of  men  illustrious  for  their  deeds,  the  strong-hold  and  sanctu- 
ary of  their  domestic  virtues  and  affections. 

6.  "The  mutilated  altars  of  our  religion,  the  crumbling  sepulchres  of 
our  forefathers,  are  pi-egnant  with  an  intciest  which  no  other  source  can  af- 
ford. In  these  venerable  remains,  the  visible  stamp  of  sanctity  still  clings 
to  the  threshold  ;  we  tread  the  ground  with  a  soft,  silent  step,  overawed  by 
the  solemnity  of  the  scene  ;  we  feel  that — although  the  sacred  fire  is  extin- 
guished on  the  altar,  the  hallelujahs  hushed  in  the  choir,  the  priest  and 
penitent  gone  forever — we  feel  that  the  presence  of  a  divinity  still  hallows 
the  spot ;  that  the  wings  of  the  presiding  cherubim  are  still  extended  over 
the  altar. 

7.  ' '  But,  turning  from  the  cloistered  abbey  to  the  castellated  fortress  of 
antiquity,  a  new  train  of  associations  springs  up.  The  vaulted  gateway, 
the  rudely  sculptured  shield,  thc-lieavy  portcullis,*  and  massive  towers,  all 
contrast  forcibly  with  the  scenes  we  have  just  left,  but  present  to  the  mind's 
eye  a  no  less  faithful  picture  of  feudal  times.  It  was  from  these  towers  that 
the  flower  of  English  chivalry  went  forth  under  the  banner  of  the  Cross — 
carried  the  terror  of  their  arms  to  tho  gat%>  of  Jerusalem,  and  earned  those 


Part  VI.  CIVIL   ARCHITECTURE.  291 

glorious  '  badges'  which  are  now  the  proud  distinction  of  their  respective 
houses. 

8.  "In  a  survey  of  these  primitive  strong-holds,  these  rude  citadels  of 
our  national  faith  and  honor,  every  feature  is  invested  with  traditionary  in- 

.terest.  They  are  intimately  associated  with  our  native  literature,  civil  and 
sacred  ;  with  history,  poetry,  painting,  and  the  drama ;  with  local  tradition, 
and  legendary  and  antiquarian  lore." — Wilj^iam  Beattie,  M.D. 

9.  Gothic  arcliitecture  in  England  has  passed  through  sev- 
eral gradations  or  stages,  which  very  truly  mark  the  success- 
ive historical  eras.  Thus,  in  the  Abbey  of  St.  Alban's  may 
still  be  seen  remains  of  the  ancient  Saxon,  with  its  ponderous 
columns  and  broad  semicircular  arches. 

In  Saxon  strength  that  abbey  frown'd. 
With  massive  arches,  broad  and  round, 
That  rose  alternate,  vow  on  row, 
On  ponderous  columns  short  and  low.— Scott. 

10.  Yet  in  this  very  same  structure  the  Norman  style — 
which  gives  to  the  arch  its  first  slight  tendency  toward  a 
pointed  appearance,  introducing  a  rudely  foliated'  capital  and 
a  moulded  base,  and  clustered  and  lighter  columns,  but  still 
rejecting  the  pointed  spires.of  the  later  Gothic — is  introduced 
upon  a  Saxon  basis,  new  and  lighter  arches  having  been 
thrown  in,  and  the  massive  clustered  pillars  having  been  evi- 
dently chiseled,  at  vast  labor  and  expense,  out  of  the  original 
Saxon,  thus  ingrafting  the  new  style  upon  the  primitive 
stock.  Thus  the  old  Saxon  abbey  becomes  a  fine  specimen 
of  the  more  modern  Norman-Gothic. 

11.  "  Bold  is  the  abbey's  front,  and  plain  ; 

The  walls  no  shrined  saint  sustain, 
Nor  tower  nor  airy  pinnets  crown; 

But  broadly  sweeps  the  Norman  arch 
Where  once  in  brighteu'd  shadow  shone 

King  OffaS  on  his  pilgrim-march. 
And  proudly  points  the  moulder'd  stone 
Of  the  high  vaulted  porch  beneath. 
Where  Norman  beauty  hangs  a  wreath 
Of  simple  elegance  and  grace  : 
Where  slender  columns  guard  the  space 
On  every  side,  iij  clustered  row, 

The  triple  arch  through  arch  disclose. 
And  lightly  o'er  the  vaulting  throw 

The  thwart-rib  and  the  fretted  rose." 

12.  The  greaf  western  entrance  of  this  celebreted  abbey, 
which  consists  of  a  projecting  porch  elaborately  ornamented, 
niched,  and  pillared,  and  subdivided  into  numerous  compart- 
ments, shows  a  varied  mingling  of  the  styles  of  different  ages. 

•'  Beside  this  porch,  on  either  hand, 
Giant  buttresses  darkly  stand. 
And  still  their  silent  vanguard  hold 
For  bleeding  knights  laid  here  of  old ; 
And  Mercian  Offa  and  his  queen 
The  portals  guard  and  grace  are  seen. 
This  western  front  shows  various  style. 
Less  ancient  than  the  central  pile. 


292 


willson's  fifth  beadek. 


Pabt  VI. 


It  uecms  some  shade  of  parted  yeara 
Left  watching  o'er  the  mouldering  dead, 
Who  here  for  pious  Henry  hlod, 

And  here,  beneath  the  wide-stretch* d  ground 

Of  nave,  10  of  choir, '  i  of  chapeLi  round, 
Forever—ever  rent  the  head."  12 

13.  In  the  engraving  at  the  head  of  this  lesson  are  repre-' 
sented  the  different  eras  of  Gothic  architecture  in  England, 
by  references  to  the  windows  of  Gothic  edifices  of  difterent 
periods — exliibiting  a  gradual  progress  from  the  broad  and 
plain  semicircular  Saxon-Norman  style  to  the  pomted  and 
()geei3  arches,  compound  curves,  and  beautiful  flowing  tracery 
of  later  times.  It  is  to  this  latter  style  of  tracery  that  Scott 
so  beautifully  refers,  in  his  description  of  Melrose  Abbey : 

14.  "  The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  1*  shone 

Throngli  slender  shafts  of  nhapely  stone 

By  foliaf?c(l  trac .ry  combined ; 
Thou  wouMst  have  thouirht  some  fairy's  hand 
'Twixt  poplar.-*  straight  the  osier  wand 

In  many  a  freakish  knot  had  twined  ; 
Then  framed  a  spell  when  the  work  was  done, 
And  tum'd  the  willow  wreaths  to  stone." 

15.  It  is  pleasant  to  linger  over  these  monumental  relics, 
with  which  is  associated  so  much  of  the  history,  literature, 
and  religion  of  modern  times.  But,  while  they  speak  of  the 
past,  they  also  convey,  in  their  broken  arches  and  mouldering 
columns,  the  same  lesson  that  is  taught  by  older  ruins  of  a 
pagan  age — that  this  is  a  "  fleeting  world,"  and  that  the  proud- 
est monuments  which  man  can  raise  are  doomed  to  crumble 
beneath  the  touch  of  time. 


1%. 


When  yonder  broken  arch  was  whole, 

*Twas  there  was  dealt  the  weekly  dole;  is 

And  where  yon  mouldering  columns  nod. 

The  abbey  sent  the  hymn  to  God. 

So  fleets  the  world's  uncertain  span ; 

Nor  zeal  for  (Jod,  nor  love  to  man. 

Gives  mortal  monimienta  a  date 

Beyond  the  power  of  time  and  fate. 

The  towers  nuist  share  the  builder's  doom; 

Ruin  is  thelr«,  and  his  a  tomb: 

But  IxJtter  Ixxm  tieuigiiant  heaven 

To  faith  and  charity  has  given, 

And  bids  the  Christian  hope  sublimo 

Transcend  the  bounds  of  fate  and  time.— Poott. 


»  "Ki.f'-in,  pertaining  to  olves  or  fairies, 

3  €i.K\v,  thread  used  in  the  embroidery. 

3  Fank,  a  temi)le  ;  a  church. 

*  Al'-bi-on,  here  used  for  Kngland. 

5  JoCsT  (jiiMt)^  a  tilt ;  a  tournament. 

0  P0bt-€ui/-i.i8,  a  frame  armed  with  iron 
over  a  gateway,  to  be  let  down  for  de- 
fense. 

■^  FA'-T.i-X-TKP,  In  the  form  of  leavoj?. 

'^  I'Tn-kkt,  for  pinnacle. 

•'  The  Saxon  OfTa,  king  of  thh  Mercians,  the 
Kuiipo-^ed  founder  of  the  Abbey  of  St.  Al- 
ban's,  lived  near  the  close  of  the  eighth 
century. 


10  Navk,  the  middle  of  a  church. 

>i  t'uoiR  (kwlrtX  the  part  of  a  church  ap- 
propriated to  the  singer.j.  In  most  modem 
churrhi»j<  the  singers  are  pUicu<i  in  certain 
seats  in  the  galleries. 

la  The  bones  of  the  British  marlyr,  St.  Al- 
banus,  are  said  to  have  been  deposited  in 
a  gorgeous  shrine  within  the  walls  of  the 
abbi'y. 

>3  ()-<";kk',  a  moulding  somewhat  like  the  let- 
ter S. 

'♦  <  )'-Ki-Ki.,  a  l>ay-window,  or  curved  window 
projecting  outward. 

'*  Dole,  a  gift ;  a  pittance. 


Part  VI. 


CIVIL  ARCHITECrrUBE. 


293 


LESSON   V. — OP  THE   USEFUL  IN  ARCHITECTURE. 

A.  J.  Downing. 


1.  The  senses  make  the  lirst  demand  in  almost  every  path 
in  human  life.  The  necessity  of  shelter  from  the  cold  and 
heat,  from  sun  and  shower,  leads  man  at  first  to  huild  a  hab- 
itation. 

2.  What  this  habitation  shall  be  depends  partly  on  the 
habits  of  the  man,  partly  on  the  climate  in  which  he  lives.  If 
he  is  a  shepherd,  and  leads  a  wandering  life,  he  pitches  a  tent. 
If  he  is  a  hunter,  he  builds  a  rude  hut  of  logs  or  skins.  If  ho 
is  a  tiller  of  the  soil,  he  constructs  a  dwelling  of  timber  or 
stones,  or  lodges  in  the  caverns  of  the  rocky  hill  sides. 

3.  As  a  mere  animal,  man's  first  necessity  is  to  provide  a 
shelter ;  and,  as  he  is  not  governed  by  the  constructive  in- 
stinct of  other  animals,  the  clumsiest  form  which  secures  him 
against  the  inclemency  of  the  seasons  often  appears  sufiicient; 
there  is  scarcely  any  design  apparent  in  its  arrangement,  and 
the  smallest  amount  of  convenience  is  found  in  its  interior. 
This  is  the  first  primitive  or  savage  idea  of  building. 

4.  Let  us  look  a  step  higher  in  the  scale  of  improvement. 
On  the  eastern  borders  of  Europe  is  a  tribe  or  nation  called 
the  Croats,  who  may  be  said  to  be  only  upon  the  verge  of 
civilization.     They  lead  a  rude  forest  and  agricultural  life. 


294  WILLSON's  PIFl'H   EEADEB.  Part  VI. 

t 
They  know  nothing  of  the  refinements  of  the  rest  of  Europe. 
They  live  in  coarse,  yet  strong  and  warm  houses.     But  their 
apartments  are  as  rude  as  their  manners,  and  their  cattle  fre- 
quently share  the  same  rooms  with  themselves. 

5.  Our  third  example  may  be  found  in  many  portions  of 
the  United  States,  and  especially  on  our  Western  frontiers. 
It  is  nothing  less  common  than  a  plain  rectangular  house, 
built  of  logs,  or  of  timber  from  the  forest  saw-mill,  with  a 
roof  to  cover  it,  windows  to  light  it,  and  doors  to  enter  it. 
The  heat  is  perhaps  kept  out  by  shutters,  and  the  cold  by 
fires  burnt  in  chimneys.  It  is  well  and  strongly  built ;  it  af- 
fords perfect  protection  to  the  physical  nature  of  man ;  and 
it  serves,  so  far  as  a  house  can  serve,  all  the  most  imperative 
wants  of  the  body.  It  is  a  warm,  comfortable,  convenient 
dwelling. 

6.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  in  all  these  grades  of  man's  life, 
and  the  dwellings  which  typify  them,  only  one  idea  has  as 
yet  manifested  itself  in  his  architecture — that  of  utility.  In 
the  savage,  the  half  civilized,  and  the  civilized  states,  the  idea 
of  the  useful  and  the  convenient  differ,  but  only  in  degree. 
It  is  still  what  will  best  serve  the  body — what  will  best  shel- 
ter, lodge,  feed,  and  warm  us — which  demands  the  whole  at- 
tention of  the  mere  builder  of  houses. 

V.  It  would  be  as  false  to  call  only  this  architecture  as  to 
call  the  gamut  music,  or  to  consider  rhymes  poetry ;  and 
yet  it  is  the  frame-work  or  skeleton  on  which  architecture 
grows  and  wakens  into  life ;  without  which,  indeed,  it  can  no 
more  rise  to  the  dignity  of  a  fine  art  than  perfect  language 
can  exist  without  sounds. 


LESSON    VI. — OF   EXPRESSION   IN    CIVIL    OR   PUBLIC    ARCHI- 
TECTURE. 

1.  Passing  beyond  the  merely  useful  in  building,  whicli 
is  limited  by  man's  necessities,  the  chief  beauty  of  architec- 
ture, considered  as  one  of  the  fine  arts,  is  to  be  found  in  the 
expression  of  elevated  and  refined  ideas  of  man's  life.  The 
first  and  most  powerful  expressions  of  this  art  are  those  of 
man's  public  life  or  of  his  religious  and  intellectual  nature,  as 
seen  in  the  temple,  the  church,  the  capitol,  or  the  gallery  of 
art.  Its  secondary  expression  is  confined  to  the  manifesta- 
tion of  his  social  and  moral  feelings,  as  shown  in  the  dwellings 
which  he  inhabits. 


Part  VI.  CIVIL  AKCHITECTURE.  295 

2.  In  the  forms  of  the  Gothic  cathedral  are  embodied  the 
worshiping  principle  in  man — the  loving  reverence  for  that 
which  is  highest  and  holiest,  and  the  sentiment  of  Christian 
brotherhood.  These  harmonies  are  expressed  in  the.  princi- 
pal lines,  which  are  all  vertical — that  is,  aspiring — tending 
upward ;  in  the  circumstance  that  the  whole  mass  falls  un- 
der or  within  the  pyramidal  form,  which  is  that  of  flame 
or  fire,  symbohcal  of  loue ;  in  the  pointed  character  of  all  the 
openings,  which,  as  expressive  of  firmness  of  base,  denotes 
embracingness  of  tendency  and  upward  ascension  as  its  ulti- 
mate aim,  and  in  the  clustering  and  grouping  of  its  multiple 
parts.  Gothic  architecture  being  thus  representative  rather 
of  the  unity  of  love  than  of  the  diversities  of  faith,  it  seems 
proper  that  it  should  be  the  style  for  all  ecclesiastical  and  oth- 
er purposes  having  reference  to  religious  life. 

3.  But  other  forms  of  architecture  are  equally  expressive. 
In  Roman  art  Ave  see  the  ideal  of  the  8tate  as  fully  manifest- 
ed as  is,  in  Gothic,  the  ideal  of  the  Church.  Its  type-form, 
based  on  the  simple  arch^  is  the  dome — the  encircling,  over- 
spreading dome,  whose  centre  is  within  itself,  and  which  is 
the  binding  together  of  all  for  the  perfection  and  protection 
of  the  whole.  Hence  the  propriety  of  using  this  style  in  state- 
liouses,  Capitols,  Parliament-houses,  town-halls,  where  this  idea 
is  to  be  expressed. 

4.  Again :  we  have,  in  the  Greek  temple,  as  it  is  found  in 
the  several  Grecian  orders,  still  another  architectural  type. 
As  these  orders  have  their  individual  expressions,  as  shown 
in  the  simple  and  manly  Doric,  the  chaste  Ionic,  and  the  or- 
nate Corinthian,  they  furnish  the  most  suitable  varieties  of  a 
harmoniously  elegant  style  that  can  be  conceived  for  simple 
halls,  for  courts  of  justice,  for  schools,  and  for  public,  orator- 
ical, lecture,  and  philosophical  rooms.  Hence  buildings  which 
have  but  one  object,  and  which  require  one  expression  of  that 
object,  can  not  be  built  in  a  style  better  adapted  to  convey 
the  single  idea  of  their  use  than  in  the  Grecian  temple  form. 
Here  every  thing  falls  under  the  horizontal  line — the  level 
line  of  rationality  ;  it  is  all  logical,  orderly,  syllogistically  per- 
fect, as  the  wisdom  of  the  schools. — Literary  World. 


296 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   READEK. 


Pakt  VL 


LESSON  VII. — OF  EXPRESSION  IK  DOMESTIC  ARCHITECTURE. 

A.  J.  DOWNINO. 


A  suburban  villa  redidence. 

1.  In  domestic  architecture,  though  the  range  of  expression 
may  at  first  seem  limited,  it  is  not  so  in  fact ;  for,  when  com- 
plete, it  ought  to  be  significant  of  the  whole  private  life  of 
man — his  intelligence,  his  feelings,  and  his  enjoyments. 

2.  If  we  pass  an  ill-proportioned  dwelling,  inr  which  the 
walls  and  roof  are  built  only  to  defend  the  inmates  against 
cold  and  heat,  the  windows  intended  for  nothing  but  to  ad- 
mit the  light  and  exclude  the  air,  the  chimneys  constructed 
only  to  carry  off  the  smoke,  the  impression  which  that  house 
makes  upon  us  at  a  glance  is  that  of  mere  utility. 

3.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  building  is  well  pro])ortioned  ; 
if  there  is  a  pleasing  symmetry  in  its  outward  form;  and, 
should  it  be  large,  if  it  display  variety,  harmony,  and  unity, 
we  feel  that  it  possesses  much  absolute  beauty — the  beauty 
of  a  fine  form. 

4.  If,  in  addition  to  this,  we  observe  that  it  lias  various 
marked  features,  indicating  intelligent  and  cultivated  lite  in 
its  inliabitants ;  if  it  i)lainly  shows,  by  its  various  apartments, 
that  it  is  intended  not  only  for  the  physical  wants  of  man,  but 
for  his  moral,  social,  and  intellectual  existence ;  if  hospitality 


Part  VI.  CIVIL  AKCHITECTURE.  297 

smiles  in  ample  parlors ;  if  home  virtues  dwell  in  cozy  fireside 
family  rooms ;  if  the  love  of  the  beautiful  is  seen  in  picture 
or  statue  galleries,  intellectuality  in  well-stocked  libraries, 
and  even  a  dignified  love  of  leisure  and  repose  in  cool  and 
spacious  verandas^  we  feel,  at  a  glance,  that  here  we  have 
reached  the  highest  beauty  of  which  domestic  architecture  is 
capable--that  of  individual  expression. 

5.  Hence  every  thing  in  architecture  that  can  suggest  or 
be  made  a  symbol  of  social  or  domestic  virtues,  adds  to  its 
beauty  and  exalts  its  character.  Every  material  object  that 
becomes  the  type  of  the  spiritual,  moral,  or  intellectual  nature 
of  man,  becomes  at  once  beautiful,  because  it  is  suggestive  of 
the  beautiful  in  human  nature. 

6.  We  are  bound  to  add  here  that,  in  all  arts,  other 
thoughts  may  be  expressed  besides  those  of  beauty.  Vices 
may  be  expressed  in  architecture  as  well  as  virtues;  the 
worst  part  of  our  natures  as  well  as  the  best.  A  house  built 
only  with  a  view  to  animal  wants,  eating  and  drinking,  will 
express  sensuality  instead  of  hospitality.  A  residence  marked 
by  gaudy  and  garish  apartments,  intended  only  to  dazzle  and 
impress  others  with  the  wealth  or  importance  of  the  proprie- 
tor, will  express  pride  and  vanity  instead  of  a  real  love  of 
what  is  beautiful  for  its  own  sake ;  and  a  dwelling  in  which 
a  large  and  conspicuous  part  is  kept  for  show,  to  delude  others 
into  the  belief  of  dignity  or  grace  on  our  part,  while  our  act- 
ual life  is  one  in  mean  apartments,  expresses  any  thing  but 
honest  sincerity  of  character. 

7.  The  difiTerent  styles  of  domestic  architecture,  as  the  Ro- 
man, the  Italian,  the  Swiss,  the  Venetian,  the  rural  Gothic,  are 
nothing  more  than  expressions  of  national  character,  which 
have,  through  long  use,  become  permanent.  Thus  the  gay 
and  sunny  temperament  of  the  south  of  Europe  is  well  ex- 
pressed in  the  light  balconies,^  the  grouped  windows,  the  open 
arcades,^  and  the  statue  and  vase  bordered  terraces  of  the  Ve- 
netian  and  Italian  villas ;  the  homely,  yet  strong  and  quaint 
character  of  the  Swiss  in  their  broad-roofed,  half  rude,  and  cu~ 
riously  constructed  cottages;  the  domestic  virtues, the  love  of 
home,  rural  beauty  and  seclusion,  can  not  possibly  be  better 
expressed  than  in  the  English  cottage,  with  its  many  upward- 
pointing  gables,*  its  intricate  tracery,  its  spacious  bay-win- 
dows, and  its  walls  covered  with  vines  and  flowering  shrubs. 

8.  So  far  as  an  admiration  of  foreign  style  in  architecture 
arises  from  the  mere  love  of  novelty,  it  is  poor  and  contempt^ 
ible;  so  far  as  it  arises  from  an  admiration  of  truthful  beauty 

N2 


298 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Fart  VI. 


of  form  or  expression,  it  is  noble  and  praiseworthy.  A  villa 
in  the  style  of  a  Persian  palace,  with  its  Oriental  domes  and 
minarets,^  equally  unmeaning  and  unsuited  to  our  life  or  cli- 
mate, is  an  example  of  the  former ;  as  an  English  cottage,  with 
its  beautiful  home  expression,  and  its  thorough  comfort  and 
utility,  evinced  in  steep  roofs  to  shed  the  snow,  and  varied 
form  to  accommodate  modern  habits,  is  of  the  latter. 

9.  Domestic  architecture  should  be  less  severe — less  rigid- 
ly scientific — than  in  public  buildings ;  and  it  should  exhibit 
more  of  the  freedom  and  play  of  feeling  of  every-day  life.  A 
man  may,  in  public  halls,  recite  a  poem  in  blank  verse,  or  de- 
liver a  studied  oration  with  the  utmost  propriety ;  but  he 
would  be  justly  the  object  of  ridicule  if  at  the  fireside  he  talk- 
ed about  the  weather,  his  family,  or  his  friend  in  the  same 
strain. 

10.  What  familiar  conversation,  however  tasteful  and  well- 
bred,  is  to  public  declamation,  domestic  is  to  civil  or  ecclesi- 
astical architecture ;  and  we  have  no  more  patience  with  those 
architects  who  give  us  copies  of  the  Temple  of  Theseus,  with 
its  high,  severe  colonnades,  for  dwellings,  than  with  a  friend 
who  should  describe  his  wife  and  children  to  us  in  the  lofty 
i-hythm  of  Ossian.  For  this  reason  the  Italian,  Venetian,  Swiss, 
rural  Gothic,  and  our  bracketed  style,  which  are  all  modified 
and  subdued  forms  of  the  Gothic  and  Greek  styles,  are  the 
variations  of  those  types  most  suitable  for  domestic  architect- 
ure. 


'  Vk-ban'-da,  an  open  portico. 

2  Bal'-co-ny,  a  gallery  on  the  outside  of  a 


3  Xb-cade',  a  continuous  arcli  or  series  of 
arches. 


*  Ga'-ble,  the  triangular  or  sloping  end  of  a 
house,  called  the  gable-end. 

*  MTn'-a-ket,  a  slonder  lofty  turret  on 
mosques,  with  a  balcony  from  which  the 
people  are  called  to  prayer. 


LESSON    VIII. THE   rOETRY    OF    COTTAGE    ARCHITECTURE. 

Adajited  from  Loudon's  Magazine. 
"L  The  cottage  homes  of  Englund ! 

liy  thousands  on  her  pltiint>, 
They  arc!  smiling  o'er  the  silvery  brooks, 

And  round  the  hamlet  fanoa. 
Through  glowing  orchnids  forth  they  peep, 

lirtch  from  its  nook  of  leaves, 
And  fc!irU»s8  there  the  lowly  sleep, 

Ah  the  bird  beneath  their  eaves, — Hrmaks. 

2.  Of  all  embellishments  by  whicli  the  efforts  of  man  can 
enhance  the  beauty  of  natural  scenery,  those  are  the  most 
effective  which  can  give  animation  to  the  scene,  while  the 
spirit  which  they  bestow  is  in  unison  with  its  general  charac- 
ter.    It  is  generally  desirable  to  indicate  the  presence  of  ani- 


Part  VI.  i;iViL  ARCHITECTUBE.  299 


A  neat  cottage  residence. 

mated  existence  in  a  scene  of  natural  beauty,  but  only  of 
such  existence  as  shall  be  imbued  with  the  spirit,  and  partake 
of  the  essence  of  the  beauty,  which  without  it  would  be  dead. 
If  our  object,  therefore,  is  to  embellish  a  scene,  the  character 
of  which  is  peaceful  and  unpretending,  we  must  not  erect  a 
building  which  shall  be  exj)ressive  of  the  abode  of  wealth  or 
pride. 

3.  However  beautiful  or  imposing  in  itself,  such  an  object 
immediately  indicates  the  presence  of  a  kind  of  existence  un- 
suited  to  the  scenery  Avhich  it  inhabits,  and  of  a  mind  which, 
when  it  sought  retirement,  was  unacquainted  with  its  own 
ruling  feelings,  and  which  consequently  excites  no  sympathy 
in  ours;  but  if  we  erect  a  dwelling  which  may  appear  adapt- 
ed to  the  wants,  and  sufficient  for  the  comfort  of  a  gentle 
heart  and  lowly  mind,  we  have  attained  our  object ;  we  have 
bestowed  animation,  and  we  have  not  disturbed  repose. 

4.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  cottage  is  one  of  the  em- 
belKshments  of  natural  scenery  which  deserves  attentive  con- 
sideration. It  is  beautiful  always  and  every  where;  and 
whether  looking  out  of  the  woody  dingle  with  its  eyelike 
window,  and  sending  up  the  motion  of  azure  smoke  between 
the  silver  trunks  of  aged  trees,  or  grouped  among  the  bright 
corn-fields  of  the  fruitful  plain,  or  forming  gray  clusters  along 
the  slope  of  the  mountain  side,  the  cottage  always  gives  the 
idea  of  a  thing  to  be  beloved — a  quiet,  life-giving  voice,  that 
is  as  peaceful  as  silence  itself. 

5.  The  principal  thing  worthy  of  observation  in  a  finished 
cottage  is  its  all-pervading  neatness,  and  the  expression  of 
tranquil  repose.  The  swallow  or  the  martin  is  permitted  to 
attach  his  humble  domicile,  in  undisturbed  security,  to  the 
eaves ;  but  he  may  be  cortsidered  as  enhancing  the  effect  of 


800  willson's  fifth  eeadeb.  Pakt  VI. 

the  cottage  by  increasing  its  usefulness,  and  making  it  con- 
tribute to  the  comfort  of  more  beings  than  one.  The  white- 
wash is  stainless,  and  its  rough  surface  catches  a  side  light  as 
brightly  as  a  front  one ;  the  luxuriant  rose  is  trained  grace- 
fully over  the  window ;  and  the  gleaming  lattice,  divided,  not 
into  heavy  squares,  but  into  small-pointed  diamonds,  is  thrown 
half  open,  as  is  just  discovered  among  the  green  leaves  of  the 
sweet  brier,  to  admit  the  breeze,  that,  as  it  passes  over  the 
flowers,  becomes  full  of  their  fragrance. 

6.  The  bright  wooden  porch  breaks  the  flat  of  the  cottage 
face  by  its  projection,  and  branches  of  the  wandering  honey- 
suckle spread  over  its  low  hatch.  A  few  square  feet  of  gar- 
den, and  a  latched  wicket,  inviting  the  weary  and  dusty  pe- 
destrian to  lean  upon  it  for  an  instant,  and  request  a  drink  of 
water  or  milk,  complete  a  picture  which,  if  it  be  far  enough 
from  the  city  to  be  unspoiled  by  town  sophistications,  is  a  very 
perfect  thing  in  its  way.  The  ideas  it  awakens  are  agreeable, 
and  the  architecture  is  all  that  we  w^ant  in  such  a  situation. 
It  is  pretty  and  appropriate ;  and,  if  it  boasted  of  any  other 
perfection,  it  would  be  at  the  expense  of  its  propriety. 


LESSON  IX. — THE  shepherd's  cottage 

1.  Where  woods  of  ash,  and  beech, 
And  partial  copses  fringe  the  preen  hill  foot, 

The  upland  shepherd  rears  his  modest  home ; 
There  wanders  by  a  little  nameless  stream 
That  from  the  hill  wells  forth,  bright  now  and  clear, 
Or  after  rain  with  chalky  mixture  gray, 
But  still  refreshing  in  its  shallow  course 
The  cottage  garden — most  for  use  designed, 
Yet  not  of  beauty  destitute.     The  vine 
Mantles  the  little  casement ;  yet  the  brier 
Drops  fragrant  dew  among  the  July  flowers ; 
And  pansies  ray'd,  and  freak'd'  and  mottled  pinks, 
Grow  among  balm,  and  rosemary,  and  rue  ; 
There  honeysuckles  flaunt,  and  roses  blow 
Almost  uncultured :  some  with  dark  green  leaves 
Contrast  their  flowers  of  pure  unsullied  white ; 
Others  like  velvet  robes  of  regal  state 
Of  richest  crimson  ;  while,  in  thorny  moss 
Enshrined  and  cradled,  the  most  lovely  wear 
The  hues  of  youthful  beauty's  glowing  cheek. 

2.  With  fond  regret  I  recollect,  e'en  now. 
In  spring  and  summer  what  deliglit  I  felt 
Among  these  cottage  gardens,  and  how  much 
Such  artless  nosegays,  knotted  v,'}^h  a  rush 
By  village  housewife  or  her  ruddy  maid. 


Part  VI. 


CIVIL   ARCHITECTURE. 


301 


Were  welcome  to  me  ;  soon  and  simply  pleased, 
An  early  worshiper  at  Nature's  shrine, 
I  loved  her  rudest  scenes — warrens,  ^  and  heaths, 
And  yellow  commons,  and  birch-shaded  hollows, 
And  hedgerows,  bordering  unfrequented  lanes 
Bower'd  with  wild  roses,  and  the  clasping  woodbine, 
Where  purple  tassels  of  the  tangling  vetch 
With  bittersweet  and  bryony  inweave. 
And  the  dew  fills  the  silver  bindweed's  cups : 
3.  I  loved  to  trace  the  brooks  whose  humid  banks 
.  Nourish  the  harebell,  and  the  freckled  pagil ; 
And  stroll  among  o'ershadowing  woods  of  beech. 
Sending  in  summer  from  the  heats  of  noon 
A  whispering  shade  ;  while  haply  there  reclines 
Some  pensive  lover  of  uncultur'd  flowers, 
Who  from  the  tumps,  ^  with  bright  gi'een  mosses  clad, 
Plucks  the  wood  sorrel  with  its  light  thin  leaves, 
Heart-shaped,  and  triply- folded,  and  its  root 
Creeping  like  beaded  coral ;  or  who  there 
Gathers,  the  copse's  pride,  anemones,* 
With  rays  like  golden  studs  on  ivory  laid 
Most  delicate ;  but  touch'd  with  purple  clouds, 
Fit  crown  for  April's  fair  but  changeful  brow. 

Charlotte  Smith. 


1  Freak'ed,  variegated,     [for  rabbits,  etc.  [ 
a  War'-uen  ouor'-rcn),  an  inclosed  placej 


3  Tump,  a  little  hillock. 

*  A-nem'-o-ne,  the  wind  flower. 


302 


WILLSON  S   FIFTH   EEADEK. 


Fart  VI. 


LES.  X. — OP  TRUTHFULNESS  IN  AECHITECTURE. 

A.  J.  Downing. 


A  picturesque  elevated  country  house, 

1.  If  all  persons  builcling  in  the  country  knew  how  much 
the  pleasure  we  derive  from  rural  architecture  is  enhanced  by 
truthfulness,  we  should  be  spared  the  pain  of  seeing  so  many 
miserable  failures  in  country  houses  of  small  dimensions.  A 
cottage — ^by  which  we  mean  a  house  of  small  size — will  nev- 
er succeed  in  an  attempt  to  impose  itself  upon  us  as  a  villa. 
Nay,  by  any  such  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  builder,  the  cot- 
tage will  lose  its  own  peculiar  charm,  which  is  as  great,  in  its 
way,  as  that  of  the  villa.^ 

2.  This  throwing  away  the  peculiar  beauty  and  simplicity 
of  a  cottage,  in  endeavoring  to  imitate  the  richness  and  vari- 
ety of  a  villa,  is  as  false  in  taste  as  for  a  person  of  simple  char- 
acter to  lay  aside  his  simplicity  and  frankne.«;s,  to  assume  the 
cultivation  and  polish  of  a  man  of  the  world.  The  basis  for 
enduring  beauty  is  truthfulness,  no  less  in  houses  than  in  mor- 
als ;  and  cottages,  farm-houses,  and  villas,  which  aim  to  be 
only  the  best  and  most  agreeable  cottages,  farm-houses,  and 
villas,  will  be  infinitely  more  acceptable  to  the  senses,  feelings, 
and  understanding  than  those  which  endeavor  to  assume  a 
grandeur  foreign  to  their  nature  and  j)urpose. 

3.  The  principle  which  the  reason  would  lay  down  for  the 
government  of  the  architect  in  constructing  buildings  for  do- 
mestic as  well  as  ])ublic  life,  is  the  simple  and  obvious  one, 
that  both  in  material  and  character  they  should  appear  to  bo 


Part  VI.  CIVIL   AECHITECTUEE.  303 

what  they  are.  To  build  a  house  of  wood  so  exactly  in  imi- 
tation of  stone  as  to  lead  the  spectator  to  suppose  it  stone,  is 
a  paltry  artifice,  at  variance  with  all  truthfulness.  When  we 
employ  stone  as  a  building  material,  let  it  be  clearly  express- 
ed ;  when  we  employ  wood,  there  should  be  no  less  frankness 
in  avowing  the  material.  There  is  more  merit  in  so  using 
wood  as  to  give  to  it  the  utmost  expression  of  which  the  sub- 
stance is  capable,  than  in  endeavoring  to  make  it  look  like 
some  other  material. 

4.  A  glaring  want  of  truthfulness  is  sometimes  seen  in  the 
attempt  of  ignorant  builders  to  express  a  style  of  architect- 
ure which  demands  massiveness,  weight,  and  solidity,  in  a 
material  that  possesses  none  of  these  qualities.  Such  is  the 
imitation  of  Gothic  castles,  with  towers  and  battlements  built 
of  wood.  Nothing  can  well  be  more  paltry  and  contempti- 
ble. The  sugar  castles  of  confectioners  and  pastry-cooks  are 
far  more  admirable  as  works  of  art.  If  a  man  is  ambitions 
of  attracting  attention  by  his  house,  and  can  only  afford  wood, 
let  him,  if  he  can  content  himself  with  nothing  appropriate, 
build  a  gigantic  wigwam  of  logs  and  bark,  or  even  a  shingle 
palace,  but  not  attempt  mock  battlements  of  pine  boards,  and 
strong  towers  of  thin  plank.  The  imposition  attempted  is 
more  than  even  the  most  uneducated  person  of  native  sense 
can  possibly  bear. 

^  Vil'-la,  an  elegant  country  seat,  or  farm,  with  a  mansion  and  out-houses. 


LESSON"    XI. BUKIAL    OF   THE    DEAD — MO^TUMENTS    OF  THE 

BURIAL-GROUND. 

J.  A.  PiCTON. 

1.  Various  modes  have  prevailed,  in  different  ages  and 
countries,  for  the  disposal  of  the  remains  of  the  dead,  accord- 
ing to  the  different  ideas  entertained  of  the  relation  between 
the  soul  and  the  body,  and  the  peculiar  notions  of  a  future 
state  of  existence.  Among  the  Greeks,  the  custom  of  burn- 
ing the  dead  was  nearly,  if  not  quite,  universal.  The  ashes 
were  collected  with  pious  care  into  an  urn,  which  was  depos- 
ited in  a  tomb,  sometimes  a  family  vault,  with  a  monument 
erected  over  it  to  the  memory  of  the  deceased.  Every  clas- 
sical reader  will  remember  the  description  of  the  funeral  pile 
of  Patroclus,  in  the  twenty-third  book  of  the  Iliad : 

2,  "  Those  deputed  to  inter  the  slain 
Heap  with  a  risinj?  pyramid  the  plain. 

A  hundred  feet  in  length,  a  hundred  wide, 
The  growing  structure  spreads  on  every  side. 
High  on  the  top  the  manly  corse  they  lay, 


304  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  VI. 

And  well-fpcl  sheep  and  sjible  oxen  Rlay: 

Achill(«  cover'd  with  their  fat  the  dead, 

And  the  piled  victims  round  tlie  body  spread." 

3.  Whatever  may  be  our  views  of  death  and  a  future  state, 
our  feelings  and  sensations  on  the  subject  are  influenced  to  a 
very  considerable  extent  by  association ;  and,  unfortunately, 
the  associations  which  we  connect  with  the  final  resting-place 
of  the  departed  have  too  generally  been  of  the  most  gloomy, 
and  sometimes  of  the  most  terrific  description : 

4.  "  The  grave  !  dread  thing, 
Men  shiver  when  thou'rt  named  :  Nature,  appall' d, 
Shakes  off  her  wonted  firmne-ss.     Ah  1  how  dark 
The  long  extended  realms  and  rueful  wastes, 

Where  naught  but  silence  reigns,  and  night,  dark  night! 

The  sickly  taper, 
By  glimmering  through  thy  low -brow' d  murky  vaults, 
Furr'd  round  with  minty  damps  and  ropy  slime, 
Lets  fall  a  supcrnumemry  honor, 
And  only  serves  to  make  thy  night  more  irksome." 

6.  But  are  these  the  feelings  with  which  we  should  look 
upon  the  grave  ?  To  use  the  words  of  an  elegant  modern  writer 
— Washington  Irving — "Why  should  we  thus  seek  to  clothe 
death  with  unnecessary  terrors,  and  to  spread  horrors  around 
the  tomb  of  those  we  love  ?  The  grave  should  be  surround- 
ed by  every  thing  that  might  inspire  tenderness  and  venera- 
tion for  the  dead,  or  that  might  win  the  living  to  virtue.  It 
is  the  place,  not  of  disgust  and  dismay,  but  of  sorrow  and 
meditation." 

6.  Death  and  the  grave  are  solemn  and  awful  realities; 
they  speak  with  a  powerful  and  intelligible  voice  to  the  heart 
of  every  spectator,  as  being  the  common  lot  of  all,  the  gate  of 
access  to  another  state  of  existence  through  which  all  must 
pass.  Our  cemeteries,  then,  should  bear  a  solemn  and  sooth- 
ing character ;  they  should  have  nothing  in  them  savoring  of 
fashionable  prettiness,  nor  any  far-fetched  conceits  or  tortured 
allegories ;  they  should  be  equally  remote,  in  expression,  from 
fanatical  gloom  and  conceited  afiectation. 

7.  There  are  many  of  our  country  church-yards,  seated  deep 
in  the  recesses  of  venerable  woods,  and  shut  out,  as  it  w^ere, 
from  the  every-day  world,  which  might  furnish  us  models  for 
imitation,  as  far  as  calm  serenity  and  quiet  beauty  go ;  w^here 
the  "rugged  elms"  and  "yew-tree's  sliade,"  coupled  with  the 
"  ivy-mantled  tower,"  with  which  they  are  connected,  give 
an  air  of  time-honored  sanctity  to  the  scene ;  where  no  sound 
reaches  the  ear  but  the  low  murmur  of  the  wind  through  the 
summer  leaves,  or  the  sighing  of  the  storm  through  the  win- 
try branches,  realizing,  if  any  situation  could  do  so,  the  de- 
scription of  the  poet : 


PakT  VI.  CIVIL   AKCHITECTUEE.  305 

*'  There  is  a  calm  for  those  that  weep, 
A  rest  for  we;iry  pilgrims  found  ; 
They  softly  lie  and  sweetly  sleep 

Low  in  the  ground." 

8.  Of  the  architectural  adaptation  of  monumental  struc- 
tures to  the  solemnities  and  consolations  of  Christian  burial, 
a  writer  in  the  North  American  Review  makes  the  following 
excellent  observations : 

"There  is  certainly  no  place,  not  even  the  church  itself,  where  it  is  more 
desirable  that  our  religion  should  be  present  to  the  mind  than  the  cemetery, 
which  must  be  regarded  either  as  the  end  of  all  things,  the  last,  melancholy, 
hopeless  resort  of  perishing  humanity,  the  sad  and  fearful  portion  of  man, 
which  is  to  involve  body  and  soul  alike  in  endless  night ;  or,  on  the  other 
hand,  as  the  gateway  of  a  glorious  immortality,  the  passage  to  a  brighter 
world,  whose  splendors  beam  even  upon  the  dark  chambers  of  the  tomb. 

9.  "It  is  from  the  very  brink  of  the  grave,  where  rest  in  eternal  sleep  the 
mortal  remains  of  those  whom  we  have  best  loved,  that  Christianity  speaks 
to  us  in  its  most  triumphant  soul-exulting  words  of  victory  over  death,  and 
of  a  life  to  come.  Surely,  then,  all  that  man  places  over  the  tomb  should, 
in  a  measure,  speak  the  same  language.  The  monuments  of  the  burial- 
ground  should  remind  us  that  this  is  not  our  final  abode ;  they  should,  as 
far  as  possible,  recall  to  us  the  consolations  and  promises  of  our  religion. 

10.  "But  there  is  a  style  of  architecture  which  belongs  peculiarly  to 
Christianity,  and  owes  its  existence  even  to  this  religion ;  whose  very  orna- 
ments remind  one  of  the  joys  of  a  life  beyond  the  grave  ;  whose  lofty  vaults 
and  ai'ches  are  crowded  with  the  forms  of  prophets,  and  martyrs,  and  beati- 
fied spirits,  and  seem  to  resound  with  tte  choral  hymns  of  angels  and  arch- 
angels. But  peculiarly  are  its  power  and  sublimity  displayed  in  the  monu- 
ments it  rears  over  the  tomb.  The  elevated  form  on  which  reposes  the 
statue  of  the  mailed  knight,  or  the  holy  woman,  composed  into  the  stately 
rest  of  the  grave,  yet  the  hands  folded  over  the  breast,  as  if  commending 
the  spirit  to  God  who  gave  it ;  the  canopy  which  overhangs  it ;  the  solemn 
vault  which  rises  above ;  the  gorgeous  windows,  through  which  is  poured 
a  flood  of  golden  light  upon  the  abode  of  the  dead — these  are  the  character- 
istics of  the  architecture  of  Christianity,  the  sublime,  the  glorious  Gothic." 


LESSON    XII. THE   AKCHITECTUEE    OP   NATURE. 

Within  the  sunlit  forest, 

Our  roof  the  bright  blue  sky. 
Where  fountains  flow,  and  wild  flowers  blow, 

We  lift  our  hearts  on  high.— Elliott. 

1.  Having  dwelt  at  some  length  on  the  fading  monuments 
of  man's  power,  pride,  ambition,  and  glory,  and  of  his  daily- 
life,  his  religious  faith,  and  his  burial,  it  may  be  well,  in  clos- 
ing, to  direct  our  {houghts,  in  reverent  contemplation,  to  that 
higher  order  of  architecture  every  where  seen  in  Nature's 
works,  and  full  of  expression  of  the  power,  wisdom,  and  good- 
ness of  the  Great  Architect. 

2.  We  might  speak  of  the  mountains  which  He  has  set  up 


306  WILLSON's   FlfTH    READER.  Part  VI. 

as  pillars,  and  of  the  overhanging  dome  which  seems  to  rest 
on  their  summits ;  but  in  vain  we  should  attempt  to  describe 
the  vast  creations  of  His  handiwork  which  adorn  this  mag- 
nificent outer  temple.  Within  its  walls,  however,  are  sanctu- 
aries, which  no  *'  frail  hands  have  made,"  and  where  no  traces 
of"  man's  pomp  or  pride"  are  to  be  seen,  but  where  the  hum- 
ble worshiper,  in  all  the  simplicity  of  childlike  faith,  may  hold 
communion  with  his  Maker.  These  are  "  the  groves" — "  God's 
first  temples" — whose  "  venerable  columns"  "  thy  hand,  our 
Father,  reared." 

GOD'S  FIEST  TEMPLES. 

3.  The  groves  were  God's  first  temples.     Ere  man  learn'd 
To  hew  the  shaft,  and  lay  the  architrave, 

And  spread  the  roof  above  them — ere  he  framed 

The  lofty  vault,  to  gather  and  roll  back 

The  sound  of  anthems — in  the  darkling  wood, 

Amid  the  cool  and  silence,  he  knelt  down 

And  oflFer'd  to  the  Mightiest  solemn  thanks 

And  supplication.     For  his  simple  heart 

Might  not  resist  the' sacred  influences 

That,  from  the  stilly  twilight  of  the  place, 

And  from  the  gray  old  trunks  that,  high  in  heaven, 

Mingled  their  mossy  boughs,  and  from  the  sound 

Of  the  invisible  breath,  that  sway'd  at  once 

All  their  green  tops,  stole  over  him,  and  bow'd 

His  spirit  with  the  thought  of  boundless  power 

And  inaccessible  majesty.     Ah !  why 

Should  we,  in  the  world's  riper  years,  neglect 

God's  ancient  sanctuaries,  and  adore 

Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 

That  our  frail  hands  have  raised  ?     Let  me,  at  least. 

Here,  in  the  shadow  of  this  aged  wood. 

Offer  one  hymn  ;  thrice  hapjjy  if  it  find 

Acceptance  in  his  ear. 

4.  Father,  Thy  hand 
Hath  rear'd  these  venerable  columns :  Thou 

Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.     Thou  didst  look  down 
Upon  the  naked  earth,  and  forthwith  rose 
All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.     They  in  Thy  sun 
Budded,  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  Thy  breeze. 
And  shot  toward  heaven.     The  century-living  crow, 
Whose  birth  was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died 
Among  their  branches ;  till  at  lust  they  stood, 
As  now  they  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dj^rk, 
Fit  shrine  for  humble  worshiper  to  hold 
Communion  with  his  Maker. 

6.  Here  are  seen 

No  traces  of  man's  pomp  or  pride  ;  no  silks 
Rustle,  no  jewels  sliinc,  nor  envious  eyes 


Part  VI.  CIVIL    AKCHITECTUEE.  80 , 

Encounter ;  no  fantastic  carvings  show 

The  boast  of  our  vain  race  to  change  the  form 

Of  Thy  fair  works.     But  Thou  art  here  ;  Thou  fill'st 

The  solitude.     Thou  art  in  the  soft  winds 

That  run  along  the  summits  of  these  trees 

In  music ;  Thou  art  in  the  cooler  breath, 

That,  from  the  inmost  darkness  of  the  place, 

Comes,  scarcely  felt ;  the  barky  trunks,  the  ground, 

The  fresh,  moist  ground,  are  all  instinct  with  Thee. 

6.  Thou  hast  not  left 
Thyself  without  a  witness,  in  these  shades. 

Of  thy  perfections.     Grandeur,  strength,  and  grace 

Are  here  to  speak  of  Thee.     This  mighty  oak — 

By  whose  immovable  stem  I  stand,  and  seera 

Almost  annihilated — not  a  prince. 

In  all  the  proud  old  world  beyond  the  deep. 

E'er  wore  his  crown  as  loftily  as  he 

Wears  the  green  coronal  of  leaves  with  which 

Thy  hand  has  graced  him.     Nestled  at  his  root 

Is  beauty,  such  as  blooms  not  in  the  glare 

Of  the  broad  sun.     That  delicate  forest  flower, 

With  scented  breath,  and  look  so  like  a  smile. 

Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mould. 

An  emanation  of  the  indwelling  Life, 

A  visible  token  of  the  upholding  Love, 

That  are  the  soul  of  this  wide  universe. 

7.  My  heart  is  awed  within  me  when  I  think 
Of  the  great  miracle  that  still  goes  on 

In  silence  round  me — the  perpetual  work 
Of  Thy  creation,  finish'd,  yet  renew'd 
Forever.     Written  on  Thy  works,  I  read 
The  lesson  of  Thy  own  eternity. 
Lo !  all  grow  old  and  die ;  but  see,  again, 
How,  on  the  faltering  footsteps  of  decay. 
Youth  presses — ever  gay  and  beautiful  youth — 
In  all  its  beautiful  forms.     These  lofty  trees 
Wave  not  less  proudly  than  their  ancestors 
Moulder  beneath  them. 

8.  There  have  been  holy  men  who  hid  themselves 

Deep  in  the  woody  wilderness,  and  gave  • 

Their  lives  to  thought  and  prayer,  till  they  outlived 

The  generation  born  with  them,  nor  seem'd 

Less  aged  than  the  hoai*y  trees  and  rocks 

Around  them ;  and  there  have  been  holy  men 

Who  deem'd  it  were  not  well  to  pass  life  thus. 

But  let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 

Retire,  and,  in  Thy  presence,  reassure 

My  feeble  virtue.     Here,  its  enemies. 

The  passions,  at  Thy  plainer  footsteps,  shrink, 

And  tremble,  and  are  still. 

9.  O  God !  when  Thou 
Dost  scare  the  world  with  tempests,  sot  on  fire 


308 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Part  VI. 


The  heavens  with  fulling  thunderbolts,  or  fill, 

With  all  the  waters  of  tlie  firmament. 

The  swift,  dark  whirlwind,  that  uproots  the  woods, 

And  drowns  the  villages ;  when,  at  Thy  call, 

Uprises  the  great  deep,  and  throws  himself 

Upon  the  continent,  and  overwhelms 

Its  cities ;  who  forgets  not,  at  the  sight 

Of  these  tremendous  tokens  of  Thy  power, 

His  pride,  and  lays  his  strifes  and  follies  by ! 

Oh !  from  these  sterner  aspects  of  Thy  face 

Spare  me  and  mine ;  nor  let  us  need  the  wrath 

Of  the  mad,  unchain'd  elements,  to  teach 

Who  rules  them.     Be  it  ours  to  meditate. 

In  these  calm  shades.  Thy  milder  majesty. 

And  to  the  beautiful  order  of  Thy  works 

Learn  to  confonn  the  order  of  our  lives. — Bryant. 


THE  PARTHENON  OF  ATHENS. 

Fair  Parthenon  !  yet  still  must  Fancy  weep 

For  thee,  thou  work  of  nobler  spirits  flown. 
Bright,  as  of  old,  the  sunbeams  o'er  thee  sleep 

In  all  their  beauty  still — and  thine  is  gone ! 
Empires  have  sunk  since  thou  wast  first  revered. 

And  varying  rites  have  sanctified  thy  shrine. 
Mourn,  graceful  ruin  !  on  thy  sacred  hill. 

Thy  gods,  thy  rites,  a  kindred  fate  have  shared  : 
Yet  art  thou  honor'd  in  each  fragment  still 

That  wasting  years  and  barbarous  hands  have  spared ; 
Each  hnllow'd  stone,  from  rapine's  fury  borne, 
Shall  wake  bright  dreams  of  thee  in  ages  yet  unborn. 

Hemans. 


Front  Elevation  of  tho  rftfthcnon,  aa  restored.    See  also  p.  285 


SIXTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIYISIOK 


'^^^..i.^ 


LESSON   I. — INDIAN   SUMMER. 

1.  When  was  the  red  man's  summer^  ? 

When  the  rose 
Hung  its  first  banner  out'  ?    When  the  gray  rock, 
Or  the  brown  heath,  the  radiant  kalmia  clothed'  ? 
Or  when  the  loiterer  by  the  reedy  brooks 
Started  to  see  the  proud  lobelia  glow 
Like  living  flame'  ?     When  through  the  forest  glcam'd 
The  rhododendron'  ?  or  the  fragrant  breath 
Of  the  magnolia  swept  deliciously 
O'er  the  half  laden  nerve'  ? 

2.  No\     When  the  groves 
In  fleeting  colors  wrote  their  own  decay, 
And  leaves  fell  eddying  on  the  shai-pen'd  blast 
That  sang  their  dirge^ ;  when  o'er  their  rustling  bed 
The  red  deer  sprang\  or  fled  the  shrill-voiced  quail, 
Heavy  of  wing  and  fearfuP ;  when,  with  heart 
Foreboding  or  depress'd',  the  white  man  mark'd 
The  signs  of  coming  winter^ :  then  began 

The  Indian's  joyous  season.     Then  the  haze, 
Soft  and  illusive  as  a  fairy  dream', 
Lapp'd  all  the  landscape  in  its  silvery  fold. 

3.  The  quiet  rivers  that  were  wont  to  hide 

'Neath  shelving  banks',  beheld  their  course  betray'd 
By  the  white  mist  that  o'er  their  foreheads  crept\ 
While  wrapp'd  in  morning  dreams',  the  sea  and  sky 


310  ,  willson's  fifth  reader. 

Slept  'neath  one  curtain\  as  if  both  were  merged' 
In  the  same  clement'.     Slowly  the  sun, 
And  all  reluctantly,  the  spell  dissolved', 
And  then  it  took  upon  its  parting  wing 
A  rainbow  glory. 
4.  Gorgeous  was  the  time, 

Yet  brief  as  gorgeous.     Beautiful  to  Mee, 
Our  brother  hunter',  but  to  us  replete 
With  musing  thoughts  in  melancholy  train. 
Our  joi/s,  alas' !  too  oft  were  woe  to  thee' ; 
Yet  ah !  poor  Indian',  whom  we  fain  would  drive 
Both  from  our  hearts,  and  from  thy  father's  lands', 
The  perfect  year  doth  bear  thee  on  its  crown\ 
And  when  we  would  forget',  repeat  thy  name\ — Mks.  Sigournet. 


LESSON"  II. — FORGIVENESS    OF   INJURIES. 

1.  The  most  plain  and  natural  sentiments  of  equity  concur 
with  divine  authority  to  enforce  the  duty  of  forgiveness.  Let 
him  who  has  never,  in  his  life,  done  wrong,  be  allowed  the  priv- 
ilege of  remaining  inexorable.  But  let  such  as  are  conscious  of 
frailties  and  crimes  consider  forgiveness  as  a  debt  which  they 
owe  to  others.  Common  failings  are  the  strongest  lesson  of 
mutual  forbearance.  Were  the  virtues  unknown  among  men, 
order  and  comfort,  peace  and  repose,  would  be  strangers  to 
human  life. 

2.  Injuries  retaliated  according  to  the  exorbitant  measure 
Avhich  passion  prescribes  would  excite  resentment  in  return. 
The  injured  person  would  become  the  injurer ;  and  thus 
wrongs,  retaliations,  and  fresh  injuries  would  circulate  in  end- 
less succession,  till  the  world  was  rendered  a  field  of  blood. 

3.  Of  all  the  passions  which  invade  the  human  breast,  re- 
venge is  the  most  direful.  When  allowed  to  reign  with  full 
dominion,  it  is  more  than  sufficient  to  poison  the  few  pleas- 
ures which  remain  to  man  in  his  present  state.  How  much 
soever  a  person  may  suffer  from  injustice,  he  is  always  in  haz- 
ard of  suffering  more  from  the  prosecution  of  revenge.  The 
violence  of  an  enemy  can  not  inflict  what  is  equal  to  the  tor- 
ment he  creates  to  himself  by  means  of  the  fierce  and  despe- 
rate passions  which  he  allows  to  rage  in  liis  soul. 

4.  Those  evil  spirits  that  inhabit  the  regions  of  misery  are 
represented  as  delighting  in  revenge  and  cruelty.  But  all  that 
is  great  and  good  in  the  universe  is  on  the  side  of  clemency 
and  mercy.  The  almighty  Ruler  of  the  world,  though  for  ages 
offended  by  the  unrighteousness  and  insulted  by  the  impiety 
of  men,  is  "long-suffering  and  slow  to  anger." 


SIXTH    MISCELLANEOUS    DIVISION.  311 

5.  His  Son,  when  he  appeared  in  our  nature,  exhibited,  both 
in  his  Ufe  and  his  death,  the  most  iUustrious  example  of  for- 
giveness which  the  world  ever  beheld.  If  we  look  into  the 
history  of  mankind,  we  shall  find  that,  in  every  age,  they  who 
have  been  respected  as  worthy,  or  admired  as  great,  have  been 
distinguished  for  this  virtue. 

6.  Revenge  dwells  in  little  minds.  A  noble  and  magnan- 
imous spirit  is  always  superior  to  it.  It  suffers  not,  from  the 
injuries  of  men,  those  severe  shocks  which  others  feel.  Col- 
lected within  itself,  it  stands  unmoved  by  their  impotent  as- 
saults ;  and  with  generous  pity,  rather  than  with  anger,  looks 
down  on  their  unworthy  conduct.  It  has  been  truly  said  that 
the  greatest  man  on  earth  can  no  sooner  commit  an  injury, 
than  a  good  man  can  make  himself  greater  by  forgiving  it. 

Blaie. 


LESSON"   III. PASSING   AWAY. 

John  Piekpont. 

1.  Was  it  the  chime  of  a  tiny  hell, 

That  came  so  sweet  to  my  dreaming  ear, 
Like  the  silvery  tones  of  a  fairy's  shell, 

That  he  winds  on  the  beach,  so  mellow  and  clear, 
When  the  winds  and  the  waves  lie  together  asleep, 
And  the  moon  and  the  fairy  are  watching  the  deep. 
She  dispensing  her  silvery  light. 
And  he  his  notes  as  silvery  quite, 
While  the  boatman  listens  and  ships  his  oar, 
To  ciitch  the  music  that  comes  from  the  shore'  ? 
Hark^ !  the  notes,  on  my  ear  that  play. 
Are  set  to  words^ :  as  they  float,  they  say, 
"  Passing  away^ !  passing  away^ !" 

2.  But  no^ ;  it  was  not  a  fairy's  shell, 

Blown  on  the  beach  so  mellow  and  clear' ; 
Nor  was  it  the  tongue  of  a  silver  bell. 

Striking  the  hour,  that  fill'd  my  ear, 
As  I  lay  in  my  dream ^ ;  yet  was  it  a  chime 
That  told  of  the  flow'  of  the  stream  of  time\ 
For  a  beautiful  clock  from  the  ceiling  hung, 
And  a  plump  little  girl,  for  a  pendulum,  swung 
(As  you've  sometimes  seen,  in  a  little  ring. 
That  hangs  in  his  cage,  a  canary-bird  swing) ; 

And  she  held  to  her  bosom  a  budding  bouquet, 
And,  as  she  enjoyed  it,  she  seem'd  to  say, 
"Passing  away^ !  passing  away^ !" 

3.  Oh,  how  bright  were  the  wheels  that  told 

Of  the  lapse  of  time  as  they  moved  round  slow  ! 


312  willson's  fifth  keader. 

And  the  hands,  as  they  swept  o'er  the  dial  of  gold, 

Seemed  to  point  to  the  girl  below. 
And,  lo !~  she  had  changed' ;  in  a  few  short  houi-s. 
Her  bouquet  had  become  a  garland  of  flowers, 
That  she  held  in  her  outstretch'd  hands,  and  flung 
This  way  and  that,  as  she,  dancing,  swung, 
In  the  fullness  of  grace  and  womanly  pride, 
That  told  me  she  soon  was  to  be  a  bride ; 

Yet  then\  when  expecting  her  happiest  day', 
In  the  same  sweet  voice  1  heard  her  say, 
*'  Passing  away* !  passing  away* !" 

4.  While  I  gazed  at  that  fair  one's  cheek,  a  shade 

Of  thought,  or  care,  stole  softly  over, 
Like  that  by  a  cloud  on  a  summer's  day  made, 

Looking  down  on  a  field  of  blossoming  clover. 
The  rose  yet  lay  on  her  cheek,  but  its  flush 
Had  something  lost  of  its  brilliant  blush ; 
And  the  light  in  her  eye,  and  the  light  on  the  wheels, 

That  marched  so  calmly  round  above  her. 
Was  a  little  dimmed,  as  when  evening  steals 

Upon  noon's  hot  face  :  yet  one  couldn't  but  love  her, 
For  she  look'd  like  a  mother  whose  first  babe  lay, 
Kock'd  on  her  breast,  as  she  swung  all  day  ; 
And  she  seem'd  in  the  same  silver  tone  to  say, 
"  Passing  away* !  passing  away* !" 

5.  While  yet  I  looked',  what  a  change  there  came* ! 

Her  eye  was  quench'd',  and  her  cheek  was  wan* : 
Stooping  and  staffed'  ^vas  her  wither'd  frame*, 

Yet  just  as  busily  swung  she  on* ; 
The  garland  beneath  her  had  fallen  to  dust* ; 
The  wheels  above  her  were  eaten  with  rust* ; 
The  hands  that  over  the  dial  swept'. 
Grew  crooked  and  tarnish'd,  but  on  they  kept* ; 
And  still  there  came  that  silver  tone. 
From  the  shriveled  lips  of  the  toothless  crone — 
Let  me  never  forget  to  my  dying  day 
The  tone  or  the  burden  of  her  lay — 

"  Passing  away*  I  passing  away* !"   • 


LESSON  IV. — THE  DREAisr  of  the  two  roads. 

1.  It  was  New-Year's  night ;  and  Von  Arden,  having  fallen 
into  an  unquiet  slumber,  dreamed  that  he  was  an  aged  man 
standing  at  a  window.  He  raised  his  mournful  eyes  toward 
the  deep  blue  sky,  where  the  stars  were  floating,  like  white 
Hlies,  on  the  surface  of  a  clear  calm  lake.  Then  he  cast  them 
on  the  earth,  where  few  more  hopeless  beings  than  himself 
now  moved  toward  their  certain  goal — the  tomb. 

2.  Already,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  he  had  passed  sixty  of  the 
stages  which  lead  to  it,  and  he  had  brought  from  his  journey 


SIXTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  313 

nothing  but  errors  and  remorse.  His  health  was  destroyed, 
his  mind  vacant,  his  heart  sorrowful,  and  his  old  age  devoid 
of  comfort. 

3.  The  days  of  his  youth  rose  up  in  a  vision  before  him, 
and  he  recalled  the  solemn  moment  when  his  father  had  placed 
him  at  the  entrance  of  two  roads — one  leading  into  a  peace- 
ful, sunny  land,  covered  with  a  fertile  harvest,  and  resounding 
with  soft  sweet  songs ;  the  other  leading  the  wanderer  into 
a  deep,  dark  cave,  whence  there  was  no  issue,  where  poison 
flowed  instead  of  water,  and  where  serpents  hissed  and 
crawled. 

4.  He  looked  toward  the  sky,  and  cried  out  in  his  agony : 
"  O  days  of  my  youth,  return  !  O  my  father,  place  me  once 
more  at  the  entrance  to  life,  that  I  may  choose  the  better 
way !"  But  the  days  of  his  youth  and  his  father  had  both 
passed  away. 

5.  He  saw  wandering  lights  floating  away  over  dark 
marshes,  and  then  disappear.  These  were  the  days  of  his 
wasted  life.  He  saw  a  star  fall  from  heaven,  and  vanish  in 
darkness.  This  was  an  emblem  of  himself ;  and  the  sharp  ar- 
rows of  unavailing  remorse  struck  home  to  his  heart.  Then 
he  remembered  his  early  companions,  who  entered  on  life 
with  him,  but  who,  having  trod  the  paths  of  virtue  and  of  la- 
bor were  now  honored  and  happy  on  this  New- Year's  night. 

6.  The  clock,  in  the  high  church  tower,  struck,  and  the 
sound,  faUing  on  his  ear,  recalled  his  parents'  early  love  for 
him,  their  erring  son  ;  the  lessons  they  had  taught  him ;  the 
prayers  they  had  offered  up  on  his  behalf.  Overwhelmed  with 
shame  and  grief,  he  dared  no  longer  look  toward  that  heaven 
where  his  father  dwelt ;  his  darkened  eyes  dropped  tears,  and 
with  one  despairing  effort  he  cried  aloud, "  Come  back,  my 
early  days !  come  back !" 

v.  And  his  youth  did  return ;  for  all  this  was  but  a  dream 
which  visited  his  slumbers  on  New- Year's  night.  He  was 
still  young ;  his  faults  alone  were  real.  He  thanked  God  fer- 
vently that  time  was  still  his  own  ;  that  he  had  not  yet  enter- 
ed the  deep,  dark  cavern,  but  that  he  was  free  to  tread  the 
road  leading  to  the  peaceful  land,  where  sunny  harvests  wave. 

8.  Ye  who  still  linger  on  the  threshold  of  life,  doubting 
which  path  to  choose,  remember  that,  when  years  are  passed, 
and  your  feet  stumble  on  the  dark  mountain,  you  will  cry  bit- 
terly, but  cry  in  vain :  "  O  youth,  return !  Oh  give  me  back 
my  early  days !" — From  Jean  Paul  Richtek. 

O 


314 


LESSON    v.— THANATPPSIS. 

Thanatopsis  is  a  compound  Greek  word  meaning  a  View  of  Death;  or  it  may  be 
translated  '■^  lieflections  on  Death." 

[The  air  of  pennive  contemplation  that  pei-vados  this  piece  required  the  inflectione,  in 
the  reading  of  it,  to  be  rilight  and  gentle,  and  the  tone  throughout  to  be  one  of  tender  ead- 
net)8  and  Christian  resignation.] 

1.  To  him  who  in  the  love  of  nature  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various^  language ;  for  his  gayer ^  hours' 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladncss\  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty\  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 

And  healing  sympathy,  that  steals  away 
Their- sharpness'  ere  he  is  aware\ 

2.  When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit',  and  sad  images 

Of  the  stem  agony',  and  shroud',  and  pall', 
And  breathless  darkness',  and  the  narrow  house', 
Make  thee  to  shudder  and  grow  sick  at  heart'. 
Go  forth  unto  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's^  teaching,  while  from  all  around'. 
Earth  and  her  waters',  and  the  depths  of  air'. 
Comes  a  still  voice — 

3.  "  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee, 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 

In  all  his  course^ ;  nor  yet,  in  the  cold  ground. 

Where  thy  j)ale  form  was  laid  with  many  teal's. 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 

Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourish'd  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth,  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again  ; 

And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 

Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 

To  mix  forever  with  the  eloments\ 

To  be  a  brother  to  th'  insensible  rock 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod\  which  the  rude  swain 

Turns  with  his  share',  and  treads^  upon.     The  ouk 

Shall  send  his  roots  abroad',  and  \ncvcc  thy  mould'. 

4.  "Yet  not  to  thy  eternal  resting-place 

Shalt  thou  retire  alone,  nor  could'st  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  He  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  workP,  with  kings\ 
The  jiowerfid  of  the  carth\  the  wise',  the  good\ 
Fair  forms',  and  hoary  scei*s  of  ages  past\ 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulchre*. 

5.  "The  hills, 
Rock-ribbed,  and  ancient  as  the  sun' ;  the  vales, 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between' ; 

The  venerable  woods' ;  rivers  that  move 


SIXTH   MISCELLANEOUS    DIVISION.  315 

In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks 

That  make  the  meadows  green^ ;  and,  pour'd  round  all', 

Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste 

Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 

Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun\ 

The  planets\  all  the  infinite  host  of  heaven^ 

Are  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death, 

Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages. 

6.  All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning\  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce\ 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon \  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings' — yet  the  dead  are  there' ; 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 

The  flight  of  years  began',  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep'  :  the  dead  reign  there  alone. 

7.  So  shalt  thou'  rest ;  and  what  if  thou  shalt  fall 
Unnoticed  by  the  living',  and  no  friend 

Take  note  of  thy  departure'  ?     All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone' ;  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on' ;  and  each  one,  as  before',  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom' ;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  their  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with. thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glides  away',  the  sons  of  men', 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring',  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years',  matron  and  maid', 
The  bow'd  with  age',  the  infant  in  the  smiles- 
And  beauty  of  its  innocent  age  cut  oif ', 
Shall,  one  by  one',  be  gather'd  to  thy  side\ 
By  those  who,  in  their  turn',  shall  follow  them'. 

8.  So  live  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 

To  the  pale  realms  of  shade',  where  each  shall  take 

His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death'. 

Thou  go  not  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night. 

Scourged'  to  his  dungeon' ;  but,  sustain'd  and  soothed 

By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 

Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 

About  him',  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams'. — Bryant. 


LESSON   VI. — THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 

Longfellow. 
1 .  Under  a  spreading  chestnut-tree 
The  village  smithy  stands. 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 
With  large  and  sinewy  hands ; 


316  willson's  fifth  readeb. 

And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

2.  His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long ; 

His  face  is  like  the  tan ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat ; 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

3.  Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 

You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow ; 
You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge 
With  measur'd  beat  and  slowj 
^  Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell, 

When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

4.  And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge. 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing-floor. 

5.  He  goes,  on  Sunday,  to  the  church, 

And  sits  among  his  boys ; 
Hq  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach. 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

6.  It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice. 

Singing  in  Paradise ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

7.  Toiling,  rejoicing,  sorrowing, 

Onward  through  life  he  goes ; 
Each  morning  sees  some  task  begun, 

Each  evening  sees  it  close, 
Something  attempted,  something  done. 

Has  earn'd  a  night's  repose. 

8.  Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 

For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught! 
Thus,  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life, 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought ; 
■  Thus,  on  its  sounding  anvil,  shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and  thought. 


2d  DiV.  OF NATL'KAL    PHILOSOPHY. 


317 


PART  VII. 

SECOND  DIVISION  OF  NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY. 

[This  subject  is  continued  from  the  Fourth  Reader.] 


'fe^       LESSON   I.  — THE   LIBRARY 
INTRODUCTORY. 

1.  "Welcome  to  the  hills  and  dales  of  Glenwild,"  said  Mr. 
Maynard,  as  he  met  for  the  hrst  time,  after  a  short  vacation, 
the  Volunteer  Philosophy  Class,  comi3osed  of  Masters  George, 
John,  and  Frank,  and  Misses  Ida  and  Ella.  "  Welcome  to  the 
pleasant  shade  of  Ihe  spreading  oak,  to  the  lawn,  the  grove, 
the  meadow,  'The  River;'  but  especially  to  the  library  and 
recitation-room,  endeared  by  the  memories  of  the  past,  and 
where  we  hope  to  talk  over  the  remaining  topics  of  philoso- 
phy.    But  tell  me  first  how  you  have  spent  the  vacation." 

2.  After  a  short  pause,  John,  Avho  .was  the  eldest  of  the 
class,  replied  that  he  had  passed  the  brief  month  about  his 
father's  mill,  where  he  had  felt  the  advantage  of  the  scientific 
knowledge  he  had  gained,  and  his  need  of  more.  -    • 

3.  George  had  contrived  a  new  arrangement  of  levers  to 
remove  stumps  of  trees  from  his  father's  farm,  and  had  also 


318  WILLSON's  fifth   reader.  Part  VII. 

made  a  whippletree  in  such  a  way  that  a  weak  horse  could 
plow  with  a  strong  and  able  one  without  having  to  pull  more 
than  one  third  as  much  as  the  other. 

4.  Frank  had  passed  his  vacation  in  the  city,  but  not  un- 
mindful of  the  lessons  he  had  learned  at  Glenwild.  His  phil- 
osophical experiments  had  been  principally  confined  to  row- 
ing and  sailing ;  and  the  best  possible  rig  for  his  boat  was  the 
subject  to  which  his  thoughts  had  been  chiefly  directed. 

6.  Ida  and  Ella  had  accompanied  Mr.  Maynard  and  his  fam- 
ily in  their  vacation  tour  to  Niagara,  the  Lakes,  the  White 
Mountains,  and  the  sea-side.  They  had  seen  many  practical 
illustrations  of  those  laws  of  philosophy  which  they  had  al- 
ready learned ;  and  while  they  were  not  less  delighted  and 
enraptured  with  the  sublime  and  picturesque  objects  of  their 
visit  than  the  most  poetical  tourists,  they  still  had  many  ques- 
tions to  ask  about  rainbows^  clouds^  waves,  and  winds — phe- 
nomena which  Mr,  M.  promised  to  explain  more  fully  on  their 
return  to  Glenwild. 

6.  Mr.  Maynard  told  them  that  he  well  remembered  his 
promise,  and  that  the  remaining  departments  of  Natural  Phi- 
losophy related  to  water,  winds,  clouds,  rainbows,  thunder  and 
lightning,  and  other  similar  phenomena.  It  would  not,  how- 
ever, be  possible  to  give  them  all  the  instruction  they  would 
need  on  so  many  and  important  subjects  in  the  time  devoted 
to  philosophy;  but  he  had  made  arrangements  to  explain 
many  things  about  them  in  a  course  of  lessons  on  Physical 
Geography. 

1.  "We  have  to  study  matter,"  remarked  Mr.  Maynard, 
"  in  its  three  forms  or  conditions.  All  material  substances 
are  either  solids,  liquids,  or  gases.  Many  substances— per- 
haps all — may  exist  in  all  three  of  these  forms,  under  proper 
conditions  of  temperature  and  pressure  ;  as  steam,  which  may 
be  condensed  into  water  or  frozen  into  ice.  Even  metals 
may  be  melted,  and  then  converted  into  vapor. 

8.  "  There  are  two  conditions  or  aspects  in  which  all  these 
forms  of  matter  should  be  considered,  viz.,  in  a  state  of  rest 
and  in  motio7i ;  the  former  of  which  is  treated  under  the 
head  of  statics,  and  the  latter  under  that  of  drjnamics.  The 
Lessons  on  l*hilosophy  in  the  Fourth  Reader  were  on  the 
statics  and  dynamics  of  solids  ;  and  our  present  course  will 
treat  of  the  corresponding  laws  o{  liquids  and  gases?'* 

•  9.  *'I  would  like  to  ask,"  said  Frank,  "if  the  allotment  of 
the  empire  of  the  world,  in  ancient  mythology,  to  the  three 
brothers,  Jupiter,  Neptune,  and  Pluto,  had  any  reference  to 


2d  DiV.  or NATURAL    PHILOSOPHY.  319 

the   three  forms   of  matter   of  which   the   world   is   com- 
posed." 

"  It  is  not  improbable,"  replied  Mr.  Maynard,  "  that  tTiis 
distribution  of  authority  by  the  ancients  was  their  mysterious 
way  of  exhibiting  the  truth  which  seems  so  plain  to  us.  Ju- 
piter and  his  wife  Juno  had  special  direction  of  atmospherical 
phenomena,  such  as  thunder  and  lightning,  wind,  clouds,  snow, 
and  rainbows.  Homer  says  the  portion  which  fell  to  Jupiter 
was  the  *  extensive  heaven  in  air  and  clouds.' " 

10.  "I  recollect  reading,"  said  Frank,  "that  Jupiter  was 
also  called  Zeus,^  and  that  in  old  times  the  expression, '  What 
is  Zeus  doing  V  was  equivalent  to  '  What  kind  of  weather  is 
it?'" 

"  I  would  also  remind  you,"  continued  Mr.  Maynard,  "  that 
Neptune  was  the  god  of  water  in  general,  but  especially  of 
the  sea,  rivers,  and  fountains.  Pluto's  abode  was  in  the  solid 
earth ;  and  his  name,  which  in  Greek  means  riches  or  wealth, 
indicates  his  supremacy  over  the  solid  forms  of  matter.  Thus 
we  see  that  Frank's  question  was  quite  appropriate  ;  and  the 
three  forms  of  matter  were  evidently  represented  in  this  mys- 
tical manner  by  the  wisest  men  of  former  times." 

11.  "I  think,"  said  Frank,  "that  they  call  rich  men  solid 
men  in  our  day,  which  is  most  appropriate,  as  Pluto  was  the 
same  as  wealth,  and  had  charge  of  the  solid  part  of  matter." 

"  I  do  not  think  the  solid  men  will  thank  you  for  your  ety- 
mological discovery,"  said  Ida.  "  It  is  certainly  more  fanci- 
ful than  philosophical,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  who  then  proceed- 
ed to  assign  the  subject  of  Hydrostatics  for  the  next  lesson. 

1  ZeCs,  the  Greek  nftme  for  Jupiter,  pronounced  in  one  syllable,  as  zus. 


LES.  II. — hydrostatics,  or  liquids  in  a  state  of  rest. 

1.  Mr.  M,  As,  in  our  lesson  on  the  statics^  of  solids,  the 
knowledge  of  a  few  principles  and  definitions  enabled  you  to 
solve  many  problems  of  apparent  difficulty,  so  in  the  statics 
of  liquids,  or  hydrostatics^  you  may  expect  to  do  the  same 
by  the  same  means.  The  first  thing  necessary  is  a  definition 
of  the  t^xva  fluid. 

2.  Ida.  I  looked  in  Webster's  Dictionary  for  a  definition, 
and  found  it  to  be  "  any  substance  whose  parts  easily  move 
and  change  their  relative  position  without  separation,  and 
which  yields  to  the  slightest  pressure." 

3.  John.  Is  not  every  thing ^^«/r?  that  is  not  solid? 


320  willson's  Kirru  reader.  Part  VII. 

Mr.  M.  Yes,  evefiy  thing  is  either  solid  ov  fluid.  Water 
and  air  are  hoih  fluids,  but  they  are  not  both  liquids.  Will 
George  define  the  term  liquid? 

4.  George.  I  took  pains  to  look  in  Webster's  Dictionary 
also  for  the  term.  I  found  it  to  be  "  a  fluid  or  flowing  sub- 
stance; a  substance  whose  parts  change  their  relative  posi- 
tion on  the  slightest  pressure,  and  which  flows  on  an  inclined 
plane."  I  can  not  understand  from  this  the  difference  be- 
tween Q.  fluid  and  a  liquid. 

5.  Mr.  M.  All  liquids  are  fluids,  but  all  fluids  are  not  liq- 
uids. Those  fluids  which  tend  to  expand  when  at  liberty,  as 
air  and  gases,  retain  their  name,  and  are  properly  called  flu- 
ids ;  but  such  as  do  not  so  expand  are  commonly  called  liq- 
uids, as  water, 'oil,  and  mercury.  Many  phenomena  show  that 
both  attractive  and  repulsive  forces  exist  between  the  parti- 
cles which  compose  the  mass  of  a  body.  When  the  attract- 
ive force  is  predominant,  the  body  is  a  solid.  When  the  two 
forces  balance,  the  body  is  a  liquid ;  and  when  the  repulsive 
force  predominates,  the  matter  is  a  gas.  In  the  last-named 
case  the  particles  tend  apart,  so  that  some  external  force  is 
required  to  keep  them  together.  It  is  very  important  to  keep' 
these  distinctions  in  mind,  if  you  would  understand  the  ap- 
pearances you  will  be  called  upon  to  explain.  Will  John  now 
inform  us  what  is  the  most  noticeable  property  of  water  aft- 
er its  fluidity  ? 

6.  JoJm.  I  think  every  person  must  have  observed  the  lev- 
el surface  of  water  when  it  is  at  rest.  I  have  often  heard  peo- 
ple talk  of  a  water-level. 

Mr.  M.  The  earth,  you  know,  is  spherical,  or  nearly  so ; 
and  as  three  fourths  of  its  surface  are  covered  with  water,  it 
is  evident  that  the  water-level  confonns  to  the  shape  of  the 
earth,  which  has  a  convex  surface.  This  deviation  from  a 
plane,  or  a  straight  line,  is  found  to  be  eight  inches  in  one 
mile.     Do  you  know  what  it  would  be  for  two  miles  ? 

7.  Frank.  I  suppose  it  must  be  sixteen  inches,  and  so  on 
for  any  distance. 

John.  There  must  be  some  mistake 
here;  fori  once  stood  on  the  ice,  and  with 
a  good  spyglass  I  could  see  an  object  at 
the  very  water's  edge,  and  only  three 
miles  distant. 

8.  Ella.  If  Frank  is  correct,  in  four 
'''SonW'«;:y;^;v??romure-  thousand  mlles,  the  straight  line  would 
Btraight  lino  A  R  vary  froiH  tlic  earth's  curvature  only  four 


2d  DiV.  OF NATURAL    PHILOSOPHY.  321 

thousand  times  eight  inches,  or  about  half  a  mile ;  when  it  is 
plain  that  the  variation  must  be  as  much  as  the  earth's  radius, 
or  four  thousand  miles  instead  of  half  a  mile !  a  wonderful  dif- 
ference. 

Mr.  M.  I  think  Frank  must  see  that  he  is  mistaken. 

9.  Frank.  I  am  very  sure  it  was  so  stated  in  the  Philoso- 
phy I  studied,  but  I  see  it  can  not  be  right. 

Mr.  M.  The  distance  the  straight  line  varies  from  the  curve 
may  be  found,/br  short  distances.,  by  multiplying  the  square 
of  the  distance  in  miles  by  eight  inches.  Now  can  Frank 
tell  the  deviation  for  two  miles  ? 

10.  Frank.  The  square  of  two  is  four;  and  four,  multiplied 
by  eight,  gives  thirty-two  inches,  which  must  be  the  deviation 
for  two  miles. 

Mr.  M.  You  have  now  given  a  correct  reply.  If  John  had 
been  six  feet  in  height,  he  could  have  seen  just  three  miles  on 
the  ice  of  a  lake,  as  you  will  see  by  reversing  the  process  I 
gave  you.     Will  John  show  how  to  do  it  ? 

11.  Johti.  Six  feet  are  seventy-two  inches,  which,  divided 
by  eight,  gives  nine  for  a  quotient,  and  the  square  root  of  nine 
is  three,  which  is  miles. 

Mr.  M.  As  you  may  have  occasion  to  put  such  calculations 
into  practice,  I  would  request  you  to  notice  that  the  difference 
betioeen  the  true  and  apparent  level  varies  as  the  square  of  the 
distance  for  any  distance  that  can  occur  in  leveling. 

12.  Ida.  I  think  the  engineers  of  the  Erie  Canal  must  have 
had  occasion  to  put  that  rule  into  practice  when  they  gave 
the  levels  to  the  Avorkmen  who  constructed  it. 

Mr.  M.  I  am  glad  so  important  a  matter  can  be  so  interest- 
ing to  you.  Are  you  aware  that  water  will  rise  to  the  same 
level  when  in  different  vessels  which  have  a  communicating 
pipe  between  them  ? 

John.  I  have  often  seen  such  a  result.  Is  not  that  the  prin- 
ciple on  which  Avater  is  distributed  in  cities  ? 

13.  Mr.M.  In  most  of  our  large  cities,  water  is  conveyed 
into  the  upper  stories  of  houses  by  this  very  principle.  Wa- 
ter will  rise  to  the  level  of  its  source,  whether  the  pipes  are 
of  cast  iron  or  porous  strata  of  the  earth.  In  this  way  water 
is  obtained  in  many  places  by  boring  wells  two  thousand  feet 
or  more  in  depth.  The  water  which  fell  as  rain  on  some  dis- 
tant mountain,  and  which  was  slowly  making  its  subterrane- 
an way  hundreds  of  feet  below  the  surface,  rises  where  an 
opening  is  made  to  supply  the  necessities  of  man  on  the 
otherwise  arid  plain. 

02 


322  WFLLSON  S    FIFI'H    READER.  Part  VII. 

14.  George.  Are  not  these  called  Artesian  wells?  1  have 
read  of  several  recently  bored  in  the  Sahara  Desert. 

Mr.  M.  The  inhabitants  of  the  oases  where  these  wells 
have  been  bored  were  wild  with  delight  and  wonder  as  they 
saw  the  water  rush  forth  from  the  dry  sands ;  and  they  have 
given  them  such  names  as  "  the  well  of  bliss,"  "  the  well  of 
gratitude,"  etc. 

15.  John.  I  do  not  wonder  the  wandering  tribes  of  the 
^  B   desert  believed  that  the  French,  who  bored  the 

mfiji^H       M  wells,  had  wrought  a  miracle.     To  them  it  was 
■■I    dr      a  miracle ;  but  to  us,  only  water  rising  to  its 
^^H/        level,  as  we  see  every  day  in  a  tea-kettle. 
IHHr  16.  Ida.  I  have  just  read  a  verse  from  Eliza 

I'ig.  2.        Cook's  poems  which  I  will  repeat : 

''  Traverse  the  desert,  and  then  ye  can  tell 
What  treasures  exist  in  the  cold  deep  well ; 
Sink  in  despair  on  the  red  parched  earth, 
And  then  yc  may  reckon  what  water  i.-<  worth." 

17.  Mr.  M.  It  is  thought  that  these  wells  will  woi*k  a  great 
social  revolution  in  those  regions.  The  various  tribes,  instead 
of  wandering,  like  their  ancestors,  from  one  place  to  another, 
will  settle  around  these  fertilizing  springs,  and  begin  to  cul- 
tivate the  earth  even  in  those  sandy  deserts.  Artesian  wells 
have  been  bored  in  Charleston,  S.  C,  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  Colum- 
bus, O.,  La  Fayette,  Ind.,  Louisville,  Ky.,  and  many  other 
places  in  this  country.  Li  Alabama  they  are  of  incalculable 
value,  and  are  very  numerous  on  plantations  and  in  villages. 

18.  The  annexed  cut  of  a  vertical  section  of  the  earth's 
crust  shows  the  principle  of  the  Artesian  well. 


Fig.  3,  the  theory  of  Artet*ian  welLa. 

The  stratum  A,  and  the  one  below  it,  are  impervious  to 
water,  but  between  them  is  a  fissure  or  seam  along  which  the 
water  penetrates  from  the  lake  on  the  hills.     Wells  are  bored 


2d  DiV.  or NATURAL    PHILOSOPHY. 


323 


ill  the  valley  through  which  the  water  rises  with  great  force 

as  soon  as  the  boring  enters  the  fissure  bet^ween  the  strata. 

The  water  may  be  carried  up  in  pipes  to  the  very  level  of  the 

lake. 

19.  John.  Really  these 
wonderful  wells  show,  on 
a  large  scale,  the  experi- 
ment of  water  finding  its 
level  in  difierently-shaped 
vessels   which   have   free 


Fig.  4,  water  findinjr  its  level  in  ditiei-ently-shaped    Communication  bj  a  tubc 
vessels  that  communicate  with  eacli  other.  of   \)clQ  bottom 

Mr.  M.  In  our  next  lesson  I  hope  to  finish  what  we  shall 
have  to  say  on  Hydrostatics. 

1  STAT'-irs,from the Greek.stof/t'? (o-TaT^Kfi),  2  II^-beo-stat'-k^s,  from  the  Greek  huclfir 

"rest,"  or  "stand  still :"  the  science  which  j  ('vStop),  "water,"  &nA.statike:  the  science 

treats  of  the  forces  which  keep  bodies  at\  which  treats  of  the  properties  and  pressure 

rent^  or  in  equilibriimi.                                \  of  jbiids  at  rest. 


LESSO]!!^  III. — HTDROSTATics —  Continued. 

1.  "I  WILL  introduce  the  subject  for  this  lesson,"  said  Mr. 

/p=::^         M.,  "by  showing  you  one  of  the  ways   in 

Li      \\       which  an  ignorant  contriver  tried  to  obtain  a 

%^     \     constant  flow  of  water — a  kind  of  perpetual 

j^^^^^   w^  motion — by  means  of  a  vessel  like  this. 

^^^^^^L  I        "  He  reasoned  thus :  A  pound  of  water  in  A 

^^^^^^m  I    must  more  than  balance  an  ounce  in  ^,  and 

^^^^^r  J    must   therefore   be   constantly   pushing   the 

^^     ^f     ounce  forward  into  A  again,  thus  causing  a 

^^^^      constant  flow  of  water  in  continuous  current. 

Fig.  5,  an  ounce  of  wa-  What  think  VOU  of  his  SUCCGSS  ?" 
ter balances  apound.  ^     ^^^^^    f  ^^^.^^  ^^  fouud  the 

water  to  rise  no  higher  in  J3  than  in  A. 

Mr.  M.  You  think  correctly.  "  You  must  see 
that  as  the  downward  pressure  in  J^  is  equal  to 
that  in  A^  the  pressure  of  water  is  by  no  means 
as  the  mass^  but  as  the  vertical  height  of  the 
fluid. 

George.  I  have  been  reading  about  this  hy- 
drostatic paradox — how  any  quantity  of  water, 
however  small,  may  balance  any  quantity,  hoAV- 
ever  great.  I  think  I  see  how  it  is,  as  the  tube 
may  be  very  small,  and  the  vessel  with  which  it  ^^^'-  ^^^nnceTthe 
communicates   very   large,  and   the   water  will    whoiemassinfe. 


324  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  VII. 

stand  at  the  same  level  in  both.  Fig.  6  therefore  seems  to 
ilhistrate  the  same  princii^le  as  Fig.  5 — the  water  in  the  pipe 
a  balancing  the  whole  mass  in  ^. 

3.  Ida.  I  now  understand  what  has  always  been  a  mystery 
to  me :  I  mean  the  experiment  with  the  hydrostatic  bellows, 
w^here  a  boy  can  raise  himself,  as  shown  in  the  figure  in  this 
book,  by  standing  on  a  bellows,  and  pouring  water  into  the 
small  tube  which  is  connected  with  it. 

Mr,  M.  What  is  the  statement  in  the  case  there  given  ? 

4.  Ida.  It  is   stated  that  the  water  in  the 
small  pipe,  or  tube,  having  a  vertical  height  of 
three  feet,  and  a  surface  area  of  one  inch,  will 
balance  a  column  in  the  bellows,  with  which  it 
is  connected,  of  the  same  height,  and  of  any  area, 
however  great.     In  the  case  here  represented, 
as  the  bellows  has  an  area  of  two  feet,  the  wa- 
ter in  the  small  pipe,  weighing  a  httle  more  than 
a  pound  and  a  quarter,  will  support  a  column 
_     of  water  in  the  bellows  of  two  square  feet  in 
Fig.  7,  the  Jiydro-  iii'oa  and  three  feet  in  height,  or  a  weight  of 
static  Bellows,     about  three  hundred  and  seventy-four  pounds. 

5.  3Ir.  M.  Very  well.  Now  let  me  ask  George  a  question. 
If  a  tightly-fitting  piston  should  be  inserted  in  the  top  of  the 
small  pipe,  and  a  man  weighing  one  hundred  and  fifly  times 
as  much  as  the  water  in  the  pipe  should  get  on  the  top  of  the 
piston,  what  additional  amount  of  upward  pressure  do  you 
suppose  he  would  thereby  exert  on  the  top  board  of  the  bel- 
lows? 

6.  George.  Evidently,  from  the  principle  stated,  he  would 
exert  an  additional  pressure  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  times 
three  hundred  and  seventy-four  pounds,  which  would  be  equal 
to  fifty-six  thousand  and  one  hundred  pounds,  or  a  little  more 
than  twenty-eight  tons!  This  certainly  beats  the  power  of 
the  levers  which  I  planned  for  pulling  up  stumps ! 

Ida.  And  it  is  stated  that  if  the  area  of  the  bellows  were 
ten  times  greater,  or  the  force  applied  to  the  piston  ten  times 
greater,  a  weight  ten  times  heavier  would  be  raised  on  the 
bellows ! 

7.  Il'ank.  I  do  not  see  any  limit  to  the  power  of  a  machine 
constructed  on  this  principle  ;  for  if  the  area  of  the  top  of  the 
bellows  were  one  thousand  feet  instead  of  two  feet,  the  pow- 
er of  this  same  machine,  with  the  weight  of  the  man  on  the 
piston,  would  be  equal  to  a  pressure  of  more  than  fourteen 
thousand  to7is  f 


2d  Div.  OF   .....    .   NATUBAL   PHILOSOPHY.  325 

8.  George.  Yes ;  and  if  the  small  tube  were  no  bigger  than 
a  pipe-stem,  the  bellows  would  sustain  just  as  great  a  weight. 

Mr.  M.  There  is,  indeed,  no  limit  to  the  power  of  such  a 
machine,  except  the  strength  of  the  material  of  which  it  is 
made. 

John.  Was  the  press  used  by  Mr.  Stephenson  in  raising  the 
tubes  of  the  Britannia  Bridge,  which  weighed  fifteen  hundred 
tons  each,  constructed  on  this  principle  ? 

9.  Mr.  M.  Yes.  Mr.  Stephenson  had  presses  made  which 
weighed  forty  tons  each.  The  cast-iron  of  the  cylinders  was 
eleven  inches  thick ;  and  it  was  estimated  that  if  one  of  these 
presses  were  used  as  a  forcing-pump,  it  would  be  capable  of 
throwing  water,  in  a  vacuum,  five  and  a  half  miles  high. 

10.  Frank.  Was  it  necessary  to  make  the  cylinders  so 
thick? 

Mr.  M.  Thick  as  they  were,  one  of  them  suddenly  burst, 
throwing  off  a  piece  of  iron  weighing  a  ton  and  a  half. 

Ida.  I  do  not  wonder  this  is  reckoned  one  of  the  most 
powerful  existing  machines,  and  that  when  Mr.  Brunei  had  to 
launch  the  Great  Eastern,  weighing  twelve  thousand  tons,  he 
resorted  to  the  hydraulic  press. 

1 1 .  Mr.  M.  Mr.  Brunei  used  a  large  number  of  these  power- 
ful presses ;  and  so  great  was  the  pressure  put  upon  them  that 
the  water  was  forced  through  the  pores  of  the  thick  iron  cyl- 
inders, and  stood  like  dew  on  the  outside. 

George.  And  I  recollect  that  some  of  the  men  standing 
near  said  those  presses  had  to  work  so  hard  that  it  made 
them  siceat. 

12.  John.  As  the  power  of  this  hydraulic  press  is  so  tre- 
mendous, why  is  it  not  used  to  propel  machinery  ? 

Mr.  M.  I  think  you  yourself  could  answer  that  question  if 
you  would  refer  to  the  principle  illustrated  in  the  Lessons  on 
Mechanical  Powers  in  the  Fourth  Reader.  You  there  learn- 
ed that,  in  all  machinery,  "  what  is  gained  in  power  is  lost  in 
velocity?''  If  a  pressure  of  one  pound  exerted  on  a  piston 
placed  in  the  small  tube,  in  Fig.  V,  should  press  the  piston 
down  one  foot,  and  exert  a  pressure  of  a  thousand  pounds  on 
the  top  board  of  the  bellows,  hoio  much  would  it  raise  the 
board? 

13.  John.  I  understand  now  the  application  of  the  princi- 
ple ;  for  it  is  very  evident  that  a  downward  movement  of  the 
piston  to  the  extent  of  one  foot  would  result  in  an  upward 
movement  of  the  top  board  of  the  bellows  of  only  the  thou- 
sandth part  of  a  foot ! 


326 


willson's  fifth  eeader. 


Part  VI L 


Ella.  TTow  beautifully  this  illustrates  the  law  of  compensa- 
tion which  is  said  to  pervade  all  nature  !* 

14.  John.  Does  it  not  appear,  from  the  principles  already 
illustrated,  that  the  pressure  of  a  column  of  water  is  propor- 
tionate to  its  height  and  base  ? 

Mr.  M.  Yes ;  its  vertical  height.  If  we  fill  with  water  a 
small  vertical  tube,  twenty-four  feet  in  height,  and  having  the 
horizontal  area  of  its  orifice  equal  to  one  square  inch,  it  is  very 
plain  that  the  water  will  press  upon  the  base  or  bottom  with 
its  own  weight,  which  is  a  little  more  than  ten  pounds.  But 
if  the  base  be  enlarged,  so  that  the  water  shall  then  cover  an 
area  often  square  feet,  what  will  the  pressure  be  on  the  entire 
base  ? 

15.  George.  I  think  I  can  tell,  for  the />r^^^c^p?6  has  already 
been  explained.  We  shall  get  the  entire  pressure  by 
multiplying  the  entire  area  of  the  base — that  is,  its 
whole  number  of  square  inches — by  the  pressure  on 
one  square  inch. 

John.  I  have  made  the  calculation ;  and  I  find  the 
pressure  on  the  entire  base  would  be  fourteen  thou- 
sand and  four  hundred  pounds,  or  more  than  seven 
tons! 

Ella.  I  see,  by  the  diagram.  Fig.  9,  that  all  the  wa- 
ter in  the  vessel  need  not  weigh  more  than  twelve 
pounds ;  how  then  is  it  possible  that  it  can  press  on 
the  bottom  of  the  vessel  with  a  force  of  more  than  seven  tons? 

16.  Mr.M.  And  yet,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  such  is  the 
fact ;  the  pressure  of  the  water  in  the  vessel  is  the  same  in 
all  directions,  upward  as  well  as  downward ;  it  is  the  same 
on  every  square  inch ;  and  if  the  vessel  could  not  yield  any 
without  breaking,  it  would  require  a  very  strong  material  to 

*  The  hydraulic  press,  as  used  for  practical 
pui-pwes  (as  for  pressing  bales  of  cotton,  etc. ), 
i.-<  iUustrated  in  the  acconiimnyiiig  fiirurp. 
It  is  connected  with  a  forciiiji-pump,  which 
raises  the  water  from  the  renoi-voir  II,  and 
then  forces  it  through  the  Xwho  K  into  the 
large  cylinder  H.  Hero  the  water  acts  tc 
raise  the  largo  piston  P.  If  the  area  of  tlie 
hafc  of  the  small  picton  ir<  a  square  inch  In 
diameter,  and  the  area  of  the  hase  of  the  large 
piston  P  is  one  thou-and  sqnan'  inrhc!',  then 
a  downward  pre^pure  of  one  pound  on  the 
one  will  exert  an  upward  pres.-urc  of  ono 
thousand  poimds  on  the  otlior.  Ihit  it  must 
bo  recollected  that  the  nmall  piston  must 
move  downward  through  the  space  of  a  tho^^- 
»ai\d  inches,  while  the  large  piston  rises  only 
om  inch.  V.y  means  of  this  macliine  cotton 
is  ])ressed  into  lialcs,  ships  are  raised  for  re- 
i'ig.  8,  tlie  llyilraulic  I'refs.  pairs,  chain-cables  niT  le.-'ted.etc  ,  etc 


Fig.  9. 


2d  DiV.  OF   .    ,        .     '  ,   NATURAL    PHILOSOPHY.  327 

withstand  the  pressure.  But  you  can  see  that  a  ijery  little 
yielding  of  the  top  or  bottom  of  the  vessel  would  lower  the 
water  in  the  tube  so  as  greatly  to  relieve  the  pressure.  Yet 
if  the  vessel  should  yield,  by  continuing  to  pour  water  into 
the  tube,  a  very  strong  vessel  might  thus  be  broken. 

17.  George.  I  now  recollect  seeing  statements  of  the  burst- 
ing of  hills,  and  even  of  mountains,  by  the  force  of  the  water 
which  had  accumulated  within  them.  Was  this  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  hydrostatic  pressure  which  we  have  been  con- 
sidering ? 

Mr.  M.  It  was.  In  mountainous  regions  this  principle  is 
sometimes  exhibited  on  a  grand  scale,  and 
whole  villages  have  been  buried  by  these 
hidden  powers  of  nature.  This  diagram  will 
illustrate  the  principle. 

18.  Ella.  But  the  channel  which  leads  to 
the  basin  of  water  in  the  mountain  is  not 
vertical.    Does  this  make  any  difference  ? 
Fig.iu.  j^j^^  j£  ^Yjjg^j  tijjg  jg  tijg  case,  the  press- 

ure is  estimated  by  the  vertical  distance  from  the  level  at  the 
top  to  the  basin.  But  I  see  our  time  is  exhausted.  In  con- 
clusion, however,  I  will  state  the  rule  (the  principle  of  which 
you  have  already  discovered)  for  the  pressure  of  fluids.  It 
is  this : 

Multiply  the  area  of  the  hase^  in  feet.,  by  the  perpendicular 
depth  of  the  loater.,  and  this  product  by  the  loeight  of  «  cubic 
foot  oficater:  or  the  numbers  may  be  inches  throughout.* 


LESSON    lY. FLOATING   BODIES SPECIFIC   GRAVITY. 

1.  "As  Master  Frank  was  so  much  interested  in  boats  dur- 
ing his  vacation,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  "  I  suppose  he  will  feel 
a  corresponduig  interest  in  the  theory  oi  t\\eiv  flotation.'''* 

Frank.  I  hope  I  have  not  shown  any  want  of  interest  in 

A^^  ,c-'^^fc.icr~i?l      o      2.  *  The  accompanying  diagram  well ' 

rr^^fiF^WJrair— ^ — T      illustrates  the  principle  of  hydrostatic 
MBlltl    c   f  mDlP    e|I^ pressure.    Here  are  five  vessels,  differ- 
"-MJjIMbita       V"£\';vin?e%'f1i:TateV"  ^^TS. 
Fig.  11,  the  pressure  is  as  the  lieight  multiplied  by  i,ottom  of  each  is  found  by  multiply- 
the  base.  jng  ^1,^  vertical  height  by  the  extent 

of  surface  of  its  base,  thereby  indicating  different  amounts  of  pres.-^ure. 

The  weight  of  a  cubic  inch  of  water,  of  the  common  temperature  of  62  degrees,  is  a  por- 
tion of  a  pound  expressed  by  the  decimal  0.036005.  The  pressure  of  a  column  of  water 
one  foot  high,  having  a  square  inch  for  its  base,  will  b3  twelve  times  thi.s,  or,  0.4328  lb. 
The  pressure,  therefore,  produced  upon  a  square  foot  by  a  column  one  foot  high,  will  be 
found  by  multiplying  this  last  number  by  144,  and  will  b3  62.3232  lbs. 


328  WILLSON*S   FIFTH    READER.  Part  VII. 

previous  lessons ;  but  I  confess  that  this  is  to  me  an  enter- 
taining subject. 

2.  Mr.  M,  Ever  since  Jason^  built  the  Argo,  the  theory  of 
floating  bodies  has  been  a  most  entertaining  and  important 
study.     The  poet  Horace  said  that  mortal's  heart  was  cased 

"In  oak  or  brass,  with  tiiple  fold, 
Who  first  to  the  wild  ocean's  rage 
Launched  the  frail  bark." 

3.  Ida.  Frank  must  have  been  very  brave  to  have  dared 
the  raging  waves  of  the  harbor  in  his  "  frail  bark."  I  confess 
I  never  get  into  a  small  boat  without  fear,  but  I  hope  to  learn 
something  in  this  lesson  that  will  give  me  more  confidence 
when  on  the  water. 

4.  Mr.  M.  Have  you  thought  of  the  conditions  under 
which  a  body  will  float  or  sink  ? 

Frank.  It  will^oa^  li  lighter  than  water,  and  ainJc  if  heav- 
ier. 

Mr.  M.  That  is  very  true ;  but  it  is  necessary  to  under- 
stand that  a  floating  body  displaces  a  quantity  of  w^ater  equiv- 
alent in  weight  to  the  body  itself,  as  may  be  proved  by  ex- 
periment. Let  the  vessel  A  be  filled  with 
w^ater  till  it  runs  out  of  the  spout ;  if  you 
then  place  on  the  surface  of  the  water  a 
wooden  ball,  a  quantity  of  water  will  flow 
B  out,  which  will  loeif/h  the  same  as  the  ball. 

_ _  If  an  iron  ball  had  been  used,  the  water 

Fig.  1?,  the  principle  of  Overflowing  would  have  been  equal  in  bulk 

specific  gravity.  tO  the  ball. 

5.  Joh7i.  Would  not  that  be  a  convenient  way  to  measure 
the  solidity  of  an  irregular  body,  as  a  fragment  of  stone  ? 

George.  It  would  be  an  excellent  way  to  detect  a  counter- 
feit gold  coin. 

£Jlla.  I  would  like  to  find  a  method  of  detecting  spurious 
gold  money.     Do  explain  it. 

6.  George.  Counterfeit  gold  coins  are  either  too  large  or 
-too  light.     If  too  light,  the  common  balance  will  show  it; 

but  if  too  large,  the  quantity  of  water  displaced  will  be  more 
than  if  genuine.  This  can  be  carefully  measured  in  a  small 
glass. 

Mr.  M.  This  brings  us  directly  to  the  subject  of  specific 
gravity.  Can  either  of  you  give  a  concise  definition  of  spe- 
cific gravity  ? 

7.  John.  I  have  learned  from  the  book  on  Natural  Philoso- 
phy which  I  have  been  studying,  that  the  specific  gravity  of 


2d  DiV.  OF NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY. 


329 


ti  body  is  its  weight,  compared  with  the  weight  of  an  equal 
bulk  of  pure  water — water  being  taken  as  a  standard. 

Mr.  M.  Can  you  tell  me,  then,  how  the  specific  gravity  of 
a  solid  heavier  than  water  is  ascertained  ? 

8.  George.  Weigh  it  first  in  air,  and  then  in  water.  Divide 
the  weight  in  air  by  the  loss  in  water,  the  quotient  will  be  the 
specific  gravity  of  the  body.  Thus,  if  a  solid  weigh  twenty 
pounds  in  the  air  and  eighteen  pounds  in  water,  its  specific 
gravity  is  ten  ;  that  is,  it  is  ten  times  heavier  than  water. 

Ida.  Is  it  of  much  use  to  find  the  specific  gravity  of  bodies  ? 

9.  Mr.  M.  I  will  give  you  an  example  of  its  use,  and  let  you 
judge  for  yourself  of  its  importance.  I  have  heard  you  ex- 
press a  doubt  sis  to  the  value  of  the  silver  cup  you  obtained  as 
a  prize  at  the  Union  Seminary.  As  it  becomes  tarnished  so  eas- 
ily, you  fear  it  is  not  real  silver.  If  it  is  alloyed,  it  will  proba- 
bly be  lighter  than  standard  silver,  which  has  a  specific  grav- 
ity of  10.47;  that  is,  silver  is  nearly  ten  and  a  half  times  heav- 
ier than  water.  Can  either  of  you  find  the  specific  gravity  of 
the  cup  which  Ida  has  gone  to  bring  for  examination  ? 

I  Y  10.  John.  Now  I  have  the  cup  I  will 

carefully  weigh  it.  It  weighs  five  and  a 
half  ounces  in  the  air.  I  M'ill  now  sus- 
pend it  by  a  thread  in  water,  and  find 
how  much  less  it  will  weigh.  It  has  lost 
ten  and  a  half  pennyweights.     I  find,  by 

dividing  the  weight  in  air  by  the  loss  in 

Fig.  13,  to  find  the  specific  Water,  that  the  specific  gravity  of  the  cup 
gravity  of  a  Boiid.         jg  jq  4*7^  wMch  shows  it  to  bc  made  of 

standard  silver. 

Ida.  I  am  glad  my  suspicions  were  unfounded; 
and  now  I  recollect  they  were  first  suggested  by  one 
of  the  disappointed  competitors. 

11.  3Ir.  J^  It  is  a  pity  we  have  no  way  to  remove 
your  new  suspicions  of  the  motive  of  your  rival.  I 
have  here  a  chain,  bought  for  gold,  which  by  chem- 
ical tests  shows  copper  in  its  composition.  It  weighs 
two  ounces,  or  forty  pennyweights,  in  air,  and  thirty- 
seven  pennyweights  in  water,  from  which  I  find  the 
copper  to  be  about  three  eighths  of  the  whole  weight. 
F'^- 14,  the  There  is  a  very  convenient  instrument,  called  the  hy- 
eter/^™'  drometcr,*  for  finding  the  specific  gravity  of  liquids. 


•  The  hydrometer,  figure  14,  consists  of  a  hollow  ball,  B,  with  a  long,  slender,  gradu- 
ated stem,  A  D  ;  and  the  ball  is  so  loaded  by  a  weight,  C,  that  the  stem  will  stand  upright 
in  water.     The  lighter  the  fluid,  the  greater  the  depth  to  which  the  hydrometer  will  sink. 


.330  WILLSOn's  fifth  reader.  Part  VII. 

Who  can  give  me  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  the  prin- 
ciple of  specific  gravity  was  first  discovered  ? 

12.  Ida.  I  have  purposely  brought  a  book  containing  an 
account  of  the  discovery,  which,  with  your  permission,  I  will 
read.     The  article  is  entitled 

ARCHIMEDES  AND  THE  CROWN. 

"King  Hiero  of  Syracuse,  or  his  son  Gelon,  it  seems,  had  given  out  a 
certain  amount  of  gold  to  be  made  into  a  crown,  and  the  workman  to  whom 
it  had  been  intrusted  had  at  last  brought  back  a  crown  of  corresponding 
weight.  But  a  suspicion  arose  that  it  had  been  alloyed  with  silver,  and 
Archimedes  was  aj)i)lied  to  by  the  king  either  to  disprove  or  to  verify  the 
allegation.  The  great  problem,  of  course,  was  to  ascertain  the  precise  bulk 
of  the  crown  in  its  existing  form ;  for,  gold  being  so  much  heavier  than 
silver,  it  is  obvious  that  if  the  weight  had  been  in  any  degree  made  up  by 
the  substitution  of  silver,  the  bulk  would  be  proportionately  increased.  Now 
it  happened  that  Archimedes  went  to  take  a  bath  while  this  problem  was 
exercising  his  mind,  and,  on  approaching  the  bath-tub,  he  found  it  full  to 
the  very  brim.  It  instantly  occurred  to  him  that  a  quantity  of  water  of  the 
same  bulk  with  his  own  body  must  be  displaced  before  his  body  could  be  im- 
mersed. 

13.  "  Accordingly,  he  plunged  in ;  and  while  the  process  of  displacement 
was  going  on,  and  the  water  was  running  out,  the  idea  suggested  itself  to 
him  that,  by  putting  a  lump  of  gold  of  the  exact  weight  of  the  crown  into 
a  vessel  full  of  water,  and  then  measuring  the  water  which  was  displaced 
by  it,  and  by  afterward  putting  the  crown  itself  into  the  same  vessel  after 
it  had  again  been  filled,  and  then  measuring  the  water  which  this,  too, 
should  have  displaced,  the  difference  in  their  respective  bulks,  however 
minute,  would  be  at  once  detected,  and  the  fraud  exposed.  *  As  soon  as 
he  had  hit  upon  this  method  of  detection,'  we  are  told,  'he  did  not  wait  a 
moment,  but  jumped  joyfully  out  of  the  bath,  and,  running  toward  his  own 
house,  called  out  with  a  loud  voice  that  he  had  found  what  he  had  sought. 
For,  as  he  ran,  he  called  out  in  Greek,  '■'■  Eureka,  Eureka T'  "I  have  found 
it,  I  have  found  it."  ' 

14.  "No  wonder  that  this  veteran  geometer,  rushing  through  the  thronged 
and  splendid  streets  of  Syracuse,  and  making  the  welkin  ring  with  his  tri- 
umi)hant  shouts — no  wonder  that  he  should  have  rendered  the  phrase,  if 
not  the  guise,  in  which  he  announced  his  success,  familiar  to  all  the  world, 
and  that  '  liureka.  Eureka,'  should  thus  have  become  the  ])roverbial  ejacu- 
lation of  successful  invention  and  discovery  in  all  ages  and  in  all  languages, 
from  that  day  to  this  !  The  solution  of  this  problem  is  supposed  to  have 
led  the  old  philosopher  not  merely  into  this  ecstatical  exhibitiim  of  himself, 
but  into  that  line  of  hydrostatical  investigation  and  experiment  which  after- 
ward secured  him  such  lasting  renown.  And  thus  the  accidents  of  a  de- 
fective crown  and  an  overflowing  bath-tub  gave  occasion  to  some  of  the 
most  remarkable  demonstrations  of  ancient  science." 

1 5.  "  That  account,"  said  Mr.  31.^ "  which  I  perceive  you  have 
taken  from  a  lecture  of  the  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop  on 

The  scalo  should  Ikj  so  grndimted  that  when  the  hydromotor  Is  immprsed  in  ptire  water  at 
the  standard  tempornturp,  It  may  sink  U^  the  point  which  is  marked  1.  Then,  when  the 
hydrometer  is  immersed  in  any  other  liijnid,  the  fi^'ure  on  the  scale  to  which  it  sinks  will 
show  the  specific  gravity  of  that  liqnid.  When  the  quantity  of  li  jnid  is  too  miall  to  fl'>«t 
the  hydrometer,  other  methods  are  used. 


2d  DiV.  OF NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY.  331 

Archimedes  and  Franklin,  is  indeed  a  history  of  one  of  the 
most  important  events  in  the  records  of  science.  In  that 
same  lecture  is  a  very  interesting  account  of  the  visit  of  the 
Roman  orator  Cicero  to  the  grave  of  the  philosopher." 

1  Ja'-80n,  the  hero  of  the  famous  A  rgonaiitic  Expedition^  as  fabled  in  Grecian  history, 
sailed  in  the  ship  Argo  to  Colchir^,  in  Asia  Minor,  for  the  purpose  of  recovering  a 
'"''  fjolden  fleece'^  deposited  there. 


LESS  OX    V. — HYDRAULICS THE   EXCUBSION. 

SONG  OF  THE  BROOK. 

1.  I  COME  from  haunts  of  coot^  and  hem  ;2 

I  make  a  sudden  sally, 
•  And  sparkle  out  among  the  fern, 
To  bicker^  down  a  valley. 

2.  By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down, 

Or  slip  between  the  ridges ; 

By  twenty  thorps,*  a  little  town, 

And  half  a  hundred  bridges ; 

3.  I  chatter  over  stony  ways 

In  little  sharps  and  trebles, 
I  bubble  into  eddying  bays, 
I  babble  on  the  pebbles. 

4.  And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow,  ' 

To  join  the  brimming  river ; 
For  men  may  come,  and  men  may  go. 
But  I  go  on  forever. — Tennyson. 

5.  "The  day  is  so  pleasant,  and  the  subject  of  our  lesson  so 
inviting,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  "  I  propose  a  walk  by  '  The  Riv- 
er,' where  we  can  better  witness  some  experiments  appropri- 
ate to  our  studies.  You  know  that,  in  plain  English,  the  les- 
son to-day  is  about  icater  in  motion.''^ 

6.  "  I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Ida,  as  they  were  crossing 
the  lawn,  "  to  study  this  lesson  in  the  pleasant  valley ;  for  I 
had  feared  it  would  be  all  about  mills  and  resistances  of  flu- 
ids— important  enough  for  millwrights  and  engineers,  but  of 
little  interest  to  Ella  and  myself     Now  I  shall  ramble  where 

'  Joy  smiles  in  the  fountain,  health  flows  in  the  rills, 
And  the  ribbons  of  silver  unwind  from  the  hills.'  " 

7.  JElla.  I  really  fear  that  Ida  and  I  will  learn  but  little 
philosophy  in  this  lovely  valley,  "  where  streamlets  flow  and 
wild  flowers  blow."  Ida,  let  us  study  the  poetry  of  the  sub- 
ject j^rs^. 

"  IIow  beautiful  the  water  is  I 

To  me  'tis  wondrous  fair — 
No  spot  can  ever  lonely  be 

If  water  sparkle  there ; 
It  hath  a  thousand  tongues  of  mirth, 

Of  grandeur,  or  delight. 
And  every  heart  is  gladder  mad? 

Where  water  greets  the  sight." 

8.  Mr.  M.  I  am  glad  you  will  all  enjoy  this  topic,  and  that 


332  WILLSON's  fifth  reader.  Part  VII. 

the  girls  can  talk  about  "  ribbons  of  silver,"  while  the  boys 
are  discussing  the  merits  of  undershot  and  overshot  wheels ; 
but  I  shall  be  disappointed  if  you  do  not  find  that  the  very 
poetry  of"  water  in  motion"  is  full  of  philosophy,  and  that  the 
philosophy  is  very  poetical.  You  can  all  moralize  on  the  sub- 
ject, also,  as  you  see 

"  The  rivers,  how  they  run 
Through  woods  and  meads,  in  shade  and  sun, 
Sometimes  swift,  sometimes  slow, 
Wave  succeeding  wave,  they  go 
A  various  journey  to  the  deep. 
Like  human  life,  to  endless  sleep." 

T  think  we  will  continue  along  "  The  River"  as  far  as  Rocky 
Glen,  where  is  a  fine  well  of  water,  with  an  old-fashioned 
sweep ;  and  then,  if  the  girls  are  not  too  much  fatigued,  we 
will  follow  the  glen,  and  .go  up  to  the  Cascades^  where,  as 
George  will  recollect,  are  the  remains  of  an  old  mill. 

9.  George.  I  have  been  there  frequently,  and  a  wild  but 
beautiful  spot  it  is,  too. 

Ida.  I  have  heard  so  much  about  the  Cascades,  I  know  I 
shall  be  delighted  to  see  them.  I  am  sure  Ella  and  I  can  eas- 
ily walk  as  faf  as  that  and  back  again. 

Mr.  M.  As  we  shall  have  this  running  stream  constantly 
"babbling"  to  us,  with  its  "thousand  tongues  of  mirth,"  as  Ella 
said,  let  me  ask  how  it  is  that  it  has  this  speaking  power^  ? 

John.  By  its  motion.,  I  suppose. 

10.  Mr.  M.  Then  tell  me,  if  you  please,  what  makes  the  wa- 
ter move  at  air  ? 

John.  The  bed  of  the  river  is  an  inclined  plane,  and  the  par- 
ticles of  water  roll  down  by  the  force  of  gravity,  just  as  a 
marble  from  a  desk. 

Mr.  M.  Very  well ;  this  force  of  gravity  is  such  that,  in 
large  rivers,  a  fall  of  three  inches  in  a  mile  is  said  to  give  a 
velocity  of  tliree  miles  an  hour. 

George.  Would  it  not  be  the  same  in  small  streams  ? 

11.  Mr.M.  By  no  means.  The  friction  of  tlie  water  against 
the  banks  and  bottom  tends  to  retard  the  motion.  In  pipes 
the  friction  is  so  great  that,  in  a  tube  one  inch  in  diameter 
and  two  hundred  feet  long,  only  one  fourth  as  much  water 
will  be  discharged  as  would  escape  from  a  simple  aperture  of 
the  same  size. 

Frank.  I  see  the  river  is  much  wider  in  some  places  than 
in  others.  Is  not  the  current  the  most  rapid  in  the  narrow- 
est parts  ? 

1 2.  Mr.  M.  It  is.  I  have  here  an  instrument  called  a  stream- 
measurer.     It  consists  of  a  vertical  tube  with  a  trumpet- 


2d  DiV.  OF NATUKAI.   PHILOSOPHY. 


333 


shaped  extremity,  bent  at  a  right  angle.  When 
plunged  in  motionless  water  the  level  in  the  tube 
corresponds  with  that  outside,  but  the  impulse  of 
a  stream  causes  the  water  to  rise  in  the  tube  until 
its  vertical  pressure  counterpoises  the  force.  Let 
us  try  it  first  in  the  wide,  and  then  in  the  narrow 
places.  You  see  quite  a  difference  in  the  velocity. 
13.  George.  I  have  just  thrown  some  pieces  of 
bark,  one  near  the  middle,  and  the  other  near  the 
shore.  See  how  much  faster  the  piece  near  the 
middle  goes  down  stream. 

Ida.  Before  I  came  to  Glenwild  I  lived  in  sight 
of  a  navigable  river,  and  I  used  to  wonder  why 
Figure  15,  «ie  ^^  boats,  in  descending,  kept  near  the  middle,  and 
stream-mea-  thosc  asccuding  wcut  nearer  the  shore.     I  under- 
stand it  now.    Boats  going  down  had  more  assist- 
ance from  the  current,  and  those  coming  up  had  less  resist- 
ance. 

14.  Mr.  M.  There  is  also  a  greater  velocity  at  the  surface 
than  near  the  bottom  from  the  same  cause. 

John.  I  think  I  see  why  wide  rivers  are  higher  in  the  mid- 
dle than  near  th'e  banks.  The  water,  running  more  swiftly, 
tends  to  draw  along  that  on  each  side  of  it,  which  it  can  not 
do  without  lo\\*ering  the  surface  on  each  side. 

15.  Mt.  M.  You  must  not  confound 
the  velocity  at  the  surface  of  a  river,  and 
at  different  depths,  with  that  of  water 
running  from  apertures  in  a  reservoir. 
If  in  this  vessel,  Fig.  16,  orifices  be  made 
at  different  depths,  the  velocities  of  dis- 
charge will  be  as  the  square  roots  of  the 
depths.  That  is,  if  D  is  one  foot  below 
the  surface,  and  A  four  feet,  a  quart  will 
run  from  A,  while  only  a  piiit  will  be  dis- 
charged from  an  orifice  of  the  same  size 
at  D. 

16.  Franh.  As  water  will  run  into  a 
Ffg.  16,  the  velocity  of  spout-  Submerged  empty  vessel  with  the  same 

mg  water.  velocity  that  it  will  flow  from  a  full  one, 

I  can  see  why  a  leak  in  a  ship  near  the  keel  is  so  dangerous. 
Mr.  M.  We  have  been  talking  about  water  in  motion  ;  let 
us  now  talk  about  hydraulic  machinery.  First,  can  each  of 
you  describe  some  method  you  have  seen,  or  heard  of,  for 
raising  water  from  wells  ? 


334 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Pajit  VII. 


Fig.  17,  a  Hindoo  Picotab. 


17.  Ida,  I  have  read,  in  an  old 
book,  of  a  curious  method  of  rais- 
ing water  in  Ilindostan.  It  is  call- 
ed by  the  Hindoos  a  picotah.  Here 
is  a  picture  of  it,  which  I  think  suf- 
ficiently describes  itself,  except  that 
another  person  must  stand  by  the 
well  to  empty  the  bucket. 

Ella.  We  often  see  in  the  coun- 
try a  contrivance  something  like 
this,  called  a  sweep,  or  a  well-sweep. 
Ida.  Yes ;  and  there  is  one  yon- 
der, just  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
where  the  stream  that  comes  down  from  the  glen  enters  our 
"River." 

John.  And  many  a  draught  of 
the  purest  water  I  have  taken  from 
the  "  old  oaken  bucket"  that  hangs 
there. 

18.  Frank.  That  old-fashioned 
sweep  always  reminds  me  of  the 
first  home  that  I  knew,  before  I 
went  to  the  city  to  reside,  and  of 
Wood  worth's  beautiful  little  poem, 
"  The  Bucket."  How  many  times 
I  have  repeated  that  poem  to  my- 
self when  thinking  of  my  early 
home. 

Mr.  31.  Perhaps  Master  Frank 
"—  will  entertain  us  with  a  recitation 

of  the  piece,  while  Master  George  helps  us  to  a  practical  illus- 
tration from  the  "  moss-covered  bucket"  itself. 

THE  BUCKET. 

19.  How  dear  to  this  heart  are  ths-pconei?  of  my  childhood, 

When  fond  recollection  precents  them  to  view  ! 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deei)-tangled  wild  wood. 

And  every  loved  .-put  which  my  infancy  knew  ; 
The  wi<^e-Rp^cadiIl^,'  pond,  and  the  mill  which  stood  by  it. 

The  hridjje,  and  the  rock  where  the  catanict  fell ; 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dair>--house  nij,'h  it. 

And  e'en  the  rude  »)ucket  which  hnnj?  in  the  well! 
The  old  ojiken  bucket,  the  iron-lK)nnd  bucket, 
The  mof<8-covered  bucket,  which  hun>?  in  the  well. 

20.  That  moHR-covered  ve»«('l  I  hail  aw  a  treacure ; 

For  often,  at  noon,  when  returned  from  the  lield, 
I  found  it  the  source  of  an  ex(lui^'ite  pleasure, 

The  purest  and  eweotest  that  nature  can  yield. 
TIow  ai'dont  I  eelzed  it,  with  hands  that  were  glowing. 

And  quick  to  the  white-pobbled  bottom  it  fell; 


l-ig.  1- 


2d  DiV.  Oi" NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY. 


335 


Then  soon,  with  the  emblem  of  truth  overflowing, 

And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  rose  from  the  well ; 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket, 
The  moss-covered  bucket  arose  from  the  well. 

21.  How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  brim  to  receive  it, 

As  poised  on  the  curb  it  inclined  to  my  lips  ! 
Not  a  full  blushing  goblet  could  tempt  me  to  leave  it, 

Though  filled  with  the  nectar  that  Jupiter  sips. 
And  now,  far  removed  from  the  loved  situation, 

The  tear  of  regret  will  intrusively  swell. 
As  fancy  reverts  to  my  father's  plantation, 

And  sighs  for  the  bucket  which  hangs  in  the  well ; 
The  old  oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket. 
The  moss-covered  bucket,  which  hangs  in  the  well. 

Mr.  M.  Both  the  poem  and  the  illustration  are  excellent. 
All  of  you  have  doubtless  seen  both  the  common  windlass 
and  the  chain-pump  used  for  drawing  water  from  wells  and 
cisterns.  But  do  you  recollect,  George,  of  a  very  ancient  and 
singular  invention  for  elevating  water  called  the  Screw  of 
Archimedes  ? 

George.  Very  well  indeed.  It  is  said  to  have  been  used 
by  the  Egyptians  in  draining  their  land  from  the  overflowings 
of  the  Nile.  It  consists  of  a  hollow  screw-thread  wound 
round  an  axis,  and  is  turned  by  hand  or  by  machinery.  The 
water  continually  rises  through  the  spire,  and  is  discharged 
from  the  top.* 

22.  Mr.  M.  These  are  but  a  few  of  the  methods  which  the 
ingenuity  of  man  has  devised  for  elevating  water.  I  am  glad 
you  omitted  all  the  usual  kinds  of  pumps,  as  they  belong  to  a 
future  lesson.  Can  you  give  me,  Frank,  a  description  of  any 
kind  of  water-wheel  for  propelling  machinery  ? 

Frank.  I  have  seen  a  mill  driven  by  a  large  wheel  called 

*  Fig.  19,  the  screw  of  Archimedes.    To  explain  the  mode  of  opera- 
tion of  this  screw,  suppose  a  small  ball  to  be  dropped  into  the  mouth, 
A ;  it  will  roll  down  the  tube  until  it  arrives  at  the  lowest 
point,  B.     If  the  screw  be  now  revolved,  the  point  B  will  as- 
cend, C  will  come  down  lower  than  B,  and  the  ball  will 
consequently  roll  to  0.     In  one  entire  revolution  it  will 
roll  to  D,  and  in  a  second  to*" ;  and  in  six 
revolutions  it  will  roll  from  the  upper  end 
of  the  screw.     If  a  quantity  of  water  were 
contained  in  the  lowest  spiral,  it  would  be 
earned  up  in   the  same  manner  as  the 
ball.     Two  of  these  screws  may  be 
made  to  work  simultaneously,  and 
to  better  advantage,  round 
the  same  axis. 


336 


willson's  fifth  eeadek. 


Part  VII. 


an  undershot  wheel,  placed  in  the  current.  The  force  of  the 
current  turns  the  wheel,  which  moves  the  machinery  connect- 
ed with  it.  V 

23.  John.  There  is  an  old  wheel  o'f  this  kind  at  the  foot  of 
the  cascade  which  we  are  just  coming  to,  and  that  will  give 
us  a  practical  illustration. 

George.  Where  the  streams  are  small,  rapid,  and  have  suf- 
ficient fall,  I  have  frequently  seen  mills  driven  by  what  is 
called  an  overshot  wheel.  The  water  falls  upon  the  wheel, 
and  by  its  weight,  principally,  turns  it.  • 

Frank.  There  is  also  a  water-wheel,  called  the  hreoM-wheel^ 
which  receives  the  water  against  the  side  of  it  instead  of  the 
top  or  the  bottom.  In  this  case  the  water  acts  partly  by  its 
momentum  and  partly  by  its  weight. 

24.  3fr.  M.  Of  these  wheels  the  overshot  is  the  most 
powerful ;  but  both  that  and  the  breast-wheel  require  a  con- 
siderable fall  of  water,  while  the  undershot  wheel,  which  is 
the  least  powerful,  requires  merely  a  strong  current. 

Ida.  I  have  seen  the  experiments  with  what  is  called 
"  Barker's  mill,"  which  is  moved  by  the  pressure  of  a  column 
of  water.* 

25.  JElla.  Here  is  the  cascade  itself;  and  there,  at  the  foot 
of  it,  is  the  old  wheel  which  John  spoke  of!  I  understand 
now  what  an  undershot  wheel  is. 

Ida.  And  don't  you  see — where  the  water  tumbles  over 
that  ledge — another  little  wheel?  That  is  a  breast-ioJieel. 
How  swiftly  it  spins  round ! 

JElla.  And  there  is  still  another  and  larger  wheel  lower 
down !  That  is  an  overshot  wheel.  It  does  seem  as  though 
some  one  has  had  all  these  wheels  put  up  for  the  purpose  of 
illustrating  this  lesson  in  hydraulics ! 

•  Fig.  20,  Barker's  mill.  In  what  i^  called  "  Rarker'-s  mill,"  the 
machinery  is  moved  by  hydrostatic  pre.-'sure.  It  con.<iistri  of  a  hol- 
low clyindrical  pipe,  A  H,  of  considerable  height,  terminating  above 
in  a  funnel-shaped  cavity,  resting  below  on  a  pointed  steel  pivot, 
and  communiciiting  below  with  a  cross  tube,  or  arms,  E  F,  closed  at 
the  extremities,  but  having  openings  on  the  opposite  sides,  near 
each  end  of  ti||c  cross  tulw.  A  pipe,  <;,  alx)ve,  regulates  the  supply 
of  water,  and  keeps  the  vertical  pipe  full. 

If  the  openings  at  K  and  F  be  closed,  it  is  evident  that  the  hydro- 
static pressure  in  the  cross  tube  will  be  the  same  on  all  parts  of  its 
surface,  and  will  \yc  proportioned  to  the  height  of  the  pipe  A  B ; 
but  let  the  water  flow  at  the  orifices,  and  there  will  be  more  pressure 
on  one  side  of  the  cross  tube  than  on  the  other,  and  the  machine 
will  revolvi?  in  the  direction  of  the  greater  i)ressure. 

The  movement  of  Barker's  mill  was  long  attributed,  but  errone- 
ously, to  the  reaction  of  the  Jets  (pressing  upon  the  elastic  air)  against 
the  extremities  of  the  cross  tubes.  On  the  principle  of  hvdrostatic 
pressure,  as  hero  illustrated,  the  turbine  wheel  has  lately  been  in- 
vented. It  is  the  most  powerful  and  economical  of  all  water-en- 
gines.    8p«  Fig.  21,  next  pnge. 


2dDlV.OF NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY.  337 

26.  All  seemed  to  be  of  the  same  opinion  ;  while  Mr.  May- 
nard  only  smiled,  and  said  he  hoped  they  would  examine  all 
the  wheels,  and  be  able  to  give  a  full  description  of  them  at 
another  time.  All  were  soon  busy  in  clambering  up  the  rocks, 
and  noticing  the  working  of  the  wheels  ;  and  after  some  time 
spent  in  this  way,  all  returned  to  the  foot  of  the  cascade,  when 
John  described  the  new  turbine  wheel  which  his  father  had 
lately  had  put  up  in  his  mill,  and  which  is  moved  by  the  ac- 
tion of  the  pressure  of  a  column  of  water.* 

"This- wheel,"  said  Mr. Maynard,  "can  be  made  to  utilize 
from  three  fourths  to  four  fifths  of  the  theoretical  power  of  the 
water,  while  the  undershot  wheel  will  not  often  give  to  ma- 
chinery more  than  one  quarter  of  the  water  power.  The 
breast- wheel,  when  well  constructed,  will  utilize  a  little  more 
than  one  half  of  the  moving  power  of  the  water,  and  the  over- 
shot wheel  about  two  thirds." 

Before  the  little  party  left  this  pleasant  spot,  Frank  hap- 
pened to  remark  that  the  numerous  little  water-falls  in  this 
cascade  forcibly  reminded  him  of  Southey's  poem  about  the 
"  Cataract  of  Lodore,"  "  for  the  water,"  said  he,  "  comes  run- 
ning, and  jumping,  and  dancing,  and  leaping  down  in  almost 
every  imaginable  variety  of  fof m  and  motion."  Thereupon 
Frank,  being  invited  to  recite  the  poem,  gave  the  following : 

THE  CASCADES  OF  EOCKY  GLEN. 

[The  Cataract  of  Lodore.] 
" How  does  the  water  come  down  at  Lodore?" 
My  little  boy  asked  me  thus,  once  on  a  time ; 
And  moreover  he  tasked  me 
To  tell  him  in  rhyme. 
Anon  at  the  word, 
There  first  came  one  daughter, 
And  then  came  another, 

•  Fig.  21,  the  turbine  wheel,  consists  of  a  fixed 
upriglit  cylinder  I  J,  which  admits  the  water,  placed 
upon  another  and  larger  fixed  cylinder,  represent- 
ed here  by  the  inner  cm-ves,  the  latter  encompassed 
by  the  moving  wheel  A  B,  in  the  form  of  a  rim. 
Through  N  passes  a  shaft,  by  which  motion  is  im- 
parted to  machinery.  From  the  tall  central  cylin- 
der the  water  passes,  under  great  pressure,  into  the 
curved  compartments  of  the  larger  fixed  cylinder, 
where  it  receives  such  a  direction  as  to  strike  the 
divisions  of  the  revolving  rim  to  the  best  advantage. 
As  this  wheel  acts  upon  the  principle  of  hydrostatic 
pressure,  its  power  is  proportionate  to  the  height 
of  the  column  of  water  in  the  central  cylinder  I  J. 
When  a  column  of  water  can  be  obtained  of  consid- 
erable height,  the  turbine  wheel  is  an  engine  of 
great  power.  It  is  extensively  used  in  the  cotton 
factories  of  Lowell,  Maes. 


338 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   BEADEK. 


Pabt  VII. 


To  second  and  third  the  request  of  their  brother, 
And  to  hear  how  the  water  comes  down  at  Lodore, 
With  its  rush  and  its  roar, 

As  many  a  time 
They  had  seen  it  before. 

So  I  told  them  in  rhyme, 
For  of  rhymes  I  had  store. 

From  its  sources,  which  well 
•  In  the  tarn  on  the  fell ; 
From  its  fountains 
In  the  mountains;. 
Its  rills  and  its  gills ; 
Through  moss  and  through  brake, 
It  runs  and  it  creeps 
For  a  while,  till  it  sleeps 
In  its  own  little  lake. 
And  thence,  at  departing, 
Awakening  and  starting. 
It  runs  through  the  reeds, 
And  away  it  proceeds, 
Through  meadow  and  glade, 
In  sun  and  in  shade. 
And  through  the  wood-shelter. 

Among  crags  in  its  flurry, 
Helter-skelter, 

Hurry-skurry. 
Here  it  comes  sparkling. 
And  there  it  lies  darkling : 
Now  smoking  and  frothing, 
In  tumult  and  wrath  in, 
Till,  in  this  rapid  race 
On  which  it  is  bent. 
It  reaches  the  place 
Of  its  steep  descent. 

The  cataract  strong 
ITicn  plunges  along. 
Striking  and  raging. 
As  if  a  war  waging 
Its  caverns  and  rocks  among ; 
Rising  and  leaping, 
Sinking  and  creeping. 
Swelling  and  sweeping. 
Showering  and  springing, 
Flying  and  flinging, 
Writhing  and  ringing, 
i'Mdying  and  whisking, 
learning  and  twisting, 
Spouting  and  frisking  . 
Around  and  aroimd. 
With  endless  rebound ; 
Smiting  and  fighting, 
A  sight  to  delight  in  ; 
Confounding,  astounding. 


2d  UlV.  OF NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY. 


339 


Dizzying  and  deafening  the 

ear  with  its  sound : 
Collecting,  projecting, 
Receding  and  speeding. 
And  shocking  and  rocking, 
And  darting  and  parting. 
And  threading  and  spreading, 
And  whizzing  and  hissing. 
And  dripping  and  skipping. 
And  hitting  and  splitting, 
And  shining  and  twining. 
And  rattling  and  battling. 
And  shaking  and  quaking, 
And  pouring  and  roaring. 
And  waving  and  raving. 
And  tossing  and  crossing, 
And  foaming  and  roaming, 
And  dinning  and  spinning, 
^      And  guggling  and  straggling, 
"And  heaving  and  cleaving. 
And  moaning  and  groaning ; 
And  glittering  and  frittering. 
And  gathering  and  feathering, 
And  whitening  and  brightening. 
And  quivering  and  shivering. 
And  hurrying  and  skurrying. 
And  thundering  and  floundering ; 
Dividing  and  gliding  and  sliding, 
And  falling  and  brawling  and  sprawling, 
And  driving  and  riving  and  striving, 
And  sprinkling  and  twinkling  and  wrinkling. 
And  sounding  and  bounding  and  rounding ; 
And  grumbling  and  rumbhng  and  tumbling, 
Delaying  and  straying  and  playing  and  spraying, 
I'll  Advancing  and  prancing  and  glancing  and  dancing, 
III  j  And  thumping  and  plumping  and  bumping  and  jumping, 
mi  And  dashing  and  flashing  and  splashing  and  clashing ; 
i|j  And  so  never  ending,  but  always  descending, 
,i  i    Sounds  and  motions  forever  are  blending, 

All  at  once  and  all  o'er,  with  a  mighty  uproar — 
And  this  way  the  water  comes  down  at  Lodore. 


After  the  recital  of  this  very  eccentric  poem,  as  Ida  called 
it,  and  some  remarks  from  Mr.  Maynard  upon  its  character, 
and  the  proper  reading  of  it,  the  little  party  set  out  on  their 


340  WILLSON  S   FIFl'H    EEADEE.  PabT  VII. 

return  homeward,  both  pleased  and  profited  by  their  day's 
excursion. 

1  €ooT,  a  lobe-footed  water-fowl.  1 3  BTcK'-EB,to  move  unsteadily;  toplayback- 

'  UssM,  contracted  from  henm.  ward  and  forward. 

I*  Thoep,  a  small  village ;  a  hamlet. 


LESSON   VI.— PNEUMATICS. 


1.  "  My  young  friends,"  said  Mr.  Maynard,  as  he  approach- 
ed a  large  table  covered  with  numerous  tubes,  glasses,  pumps, 
jars,  etc.,  *'  if  you  have  carefully  read  the  books  you  possess, 
and  such  as  I  loaned  you  from  the  library,  you  can  make 
this  one  of  the  most  delightful  lessons  in  our  whole  course. 
Pneumatics^  you  know,  is  the  science  of  the  pressure  and  mo- 
tion of  elastic  fluids.  Air  and  steam  are  good  examples  of 
elastic  fluids ;  the  former  representing  such  as  are  perpianent- 
ly  gaseous,  and  the  latter  such  as  are  condensible  into  a  liq- 
uid state.  Do  you  recollect  what  we  gave  in  a  former  les- 
son as  one  of  the  characteristics  of  elastic  fluids  ?" 

2.  Frank.  I  think  it  was  their  immediate  tendency  to  ex- 
pand when  at  liberty  to  do  so. 

Mr.  M.  You  will  see  by  some  experiments  with  the  air- 
patnp  that  air  is  highly  elastic.  I  would  first  state  that  we 
are  living  in  an  ocean  of  atmosphere  about  fifty  miles  in 
height,  and  quite  surrounding  the  globe.  The  air-pump  is 
similar  to  a  water-pump  in  construction,  but  made  so  accu- 
rately as  not  to  leak  air.  I  will  now  pump  some  of  the  air 
from  this  glass,  which  you  see  is  open  at 
both  ends ;  but,  in  order  to  remove  the  air, 
or  rather  to  obtain  a  vacuum  inside,  it  will 
be  necessary  to  stop  the  air  from  entering 
from  the  top.  John,  will  you  place  your 
hand  on  the  top  for  a  stopper?  I  will 
ng.  23,  atmospheric  press-  ^^^w  rcmovc  the  air  from  under  John's 
ure-  hand. 

3.  "  Oh !"  exclaimed  John,  "  it  sucks  my  hand  down." 
"  What  sucks  your  hand  down  ?"  said  Mr.  M. 

"  Really,"  replied  John,  "  I  think  I  was  mistaken,  for  I 
now  understand  that  it  is  the  weight  of  the  air  on  my  hand 
pressing  it  down.  I  learned  long  ago  that  the  weight  of  the 
atmosphere  is  about  fifteen  pounds  on  a  square  inch,  but  I 
never  before  had  so  clear  an  idea  of  it." 

4.  Mr.  M.  Why  could  you  not  move  your  hand  from  the 


2d  DiV.  OF NATUKAL   PHILOSOPHY.  341 

glass  as  well  after  the  exhaustion  as  before  ?     Was  there  any- 
more pressure  put  upon  your  hand  by  the  operation  ? 

John.  The  weight  was  certainly  no  more,  but  the  sustain- 
ing spring  or  elasticity  of  the  air  was  removed  from  below, 
and  I  felt  the  pressure,  just  as  a  man  feels  the  pressure  of 
debts  when  he  has  no  money  with  which  to  pay  them. 

5.  Mr.  31.  To  understand  all  about  the  weight  and  elas- 
ticity of  air  is  to  understand  pneumatics.  Have  any  of  you 
ascertained  the  entire  weight  of  the  atmosphere,  which  seems 
so  light  ? 

Ella.  Somebody  has  calculated  that  the  weight  of  the  at- 
mosphere is  equal  to  that  of  a  solid  sphere  of  lead  sixty  miles 
in  diameter.  I  would  much  like  to  understand  how  such 
astonishing  calculations  are  made. 

6.  Ida.  It  is  very  easy  indeed.  We  know  that  the  press- 
ure of  air  is  fifteen  pounds  on  each  square  inch ;  and  all  we 
have  to  do  is  to  find  how  many,  square  inches  there  are  on 
the  earth's  surface,  and  multiply  by  fifteen  to  obtain  an  an- 
swer in  pounds. 

Ella.  How  do  people  know  that  the  pressure  is  fifteen 
pounds  on  a  square  inch  ? 

Ida.  It  is  in  all  the  Philosophies. 

Y.  Ella.  But  how  did  the  philosophers  find  it  out?  I 
would  also  like  to  know  how  it  is  known  to  be  about  fifty 
miles  high. 

Mr.  M.  I  perceive  that  Frank  has  been  examining  that 
matter,  and  that  while  you  have  been  talking  he  has  been 
figuring.  I  presume  he  can  read  to  us,  from  the  book  which 
he  has  in  his  hand,  an  account  of  the  way  in  which  this  great 
discovery  was  first  made. 

8.  Frank.  "The  common  pump  was  invented  by  Ctesibius  224  years 
B.C.,  and  soon  after  it  came  into  general  use  throughout  the  civilized 
world.  The  philosophers  of  the  time  explained  its  action  by  saying  that 
when  the  piston  was  raised  in  pumping,  and  the  air  thereby  removed,  a 
vacuum  would  be  formed  over  the  water,  but  that  '  nature  abhorred  a  vacu- 
um,' and  consequently  filled  it  with  water  as  the  most  convenient  material. 

9.  "So  the  water  kept  rising  at  each  stroke  of  the  pump,  as  the  air  was 
removed.  Some  wells  were  very  deep,  and  it  was  found  that  whenever  the 
depth  was  over  33  feet,  the  pumps  were  unable  to  raise  the  water.  Final- 
ly, some  engineers  asked  Galileo  why  the  water  would  not  rise  higher  than 
33  feet.  He  is  said  to  have  replied  that  '  nature's  abhorrence  of  a  vacuum 
ceased  at  the  height  of  33  feet.'  " 

10.  Mr.M.  Though  the  great  Galileo  did  not  know  the 
true  theory  of  the  common  pump,  he  certainly  must  have 
given  such  an  answer  rather  in  joke  than  in  earnest.  But 
let  us  have  the  rest  of  Frank's  account. 


342 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   READER. 


Pabt  VIL 


11.  Frank.  "  It  is  supposed  that  Galileo  suggested  to  his  pupil  Torricelli 
that  the  weight  of  the  air  on  the  water  surrounding  the  pump  might  press 
the  water  up  into  the  pump  when  the  pressure  within  the  pump  was  re- 
moved. Galileo  died  soon  after,  and  the  next  year,  1643,  Torricelli  de- 
termined to  find  out  all  about  it.  He  thought  that  if  the  weight  of  the  air 
was  the  cause,  he  could  try  the  experiment  of  sustaining,  by  the  pressure  of 
the  atmosphere,  a  column  of  water  33  feet  high  in  a  tube  closed  at  the  up- 
per end.  This  would  have  been  a  difficult  experiment  to  perform  ;  but, 
fortunately,  he  knew  that  the  specific  gravity  of  quicksilver  was  13^  times 
that  of  water.  Of  course  a  column  of  quicksilver  2^  feet  high  would  bal- 
ance a  column  of  water  13i  times  as  high, 
or  about  33  feet. 

12.  "Torricelli  took  a  glass  tube  more 
than  2\  feet  long,  and  filled  it  with  quick- 
silver, and,  after  closing  the  upper  end,  in- 
verted it,  placing  the  end  below  the  sur- 
face of  quicksilver  in  a  cup  before  remov- 
ing his  thumb.  As  he  expected,  the  quick- 
silver did  not  all  run  down  into  the  cup, 
but  stood  at  the  height  of  30  inches  in  the 
tube.  Evidently  the  pressure  of  the  at- 
mosphere upon  the  quicksilver  in  the  cup 
sustained  the  column  in  the  tube ;  and  as 
the  tube  was  one  inch  in  area,  and  the 
column  of  quicksilver  weighed  15  pounds, 
not  only  was  the  pressure  of  the  atmos- 
phere on  a  square  inch  of  surface  ascer- 
tained, but  the  instnmient  called  the  barom- 
eter was  invented — an  instrument  to  show 
the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  at  diflferent 
times  and  in  different  places." 


Fig.  23,  Torricelli' s  experiment 


13.  JElla.  It  would  be  very  easy  to  try  the  experiment  of 
Torricelli. 

Mr.  M.  Will  George  tell  me,  now,  how  the  altitude  of  the 
atmosphere  is  found  by  this  instrument,  the  barometer  ? 

George.  By  carrying  a  barometer  up  a  high  mountain,  and 
noticing  how  much  the  mercury  falls — that  is,  how  much  the 
pressure  diminishes  for  every  hundred  or  five  hundred  feet 
we  ascend,  we  can  easily  calculate  at  what  height  there  will 
be  no  pressure,  and  consequently  no  atmosphere,  which  is 
at  a  height  of  about  forty-five  miles. 

14.  Mr.  M.  That  is  correct.  The  pressure  diminishes  in 
a  geometrical  ratio  as  we  ascend.  Thus,  at  about  four  miles 
above  the  earth  the  air  is  only  half  as  dense  as  at  the  sur- 
face ;  at  eight  miles,  one  fourth ;  and  at  twelve  miles,  one 
eighth,  etc.     But  of  what  practical  use  is  the  barometer  ? 

Ida.  After  once  knowing  how  the  barometer  stands  at 
difierent  heights  from  the  sea,  it  enables  us  to  measure  the 
height  of  mountains. 


2d  Div.  OP NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY.  348 

Frank.  And  also  to  foretell  storms ;  for,  as  the  air  is  usu- 
ally lighter  before  a  storm,  this  lightness  is  indicated  by  the 
falling  of  the  quicksilver.  I  was  reading  this  morning,  in 
"Darwin's  Botanic  Garden," 

"How  up  exhausted  tubes  bright  currents  flow 
Of  liquid  amber  from  tlie  lake  below, 
Weigh  the  long  column  of  the  incumbent  skies, 
And  with  the  changeful  moment  fall  and  rise." 

15.  Mr.  M.  Dr.  Arnott  relates  a  striking  instance,  which 
occurred  to  himself,  of  the  great  practical  value  of  the  barom- 
eter.   I  will  read  his  account : 

"We  were  in  a  soutliern  latitude.  The  sun  had  just  set  with  placid  ap- 
pearance after  a  beautiful  day,  and  the  usual  mirth  of  the  evening  watch 
was  proceeding,  when  the  captain's  order  came  to  prepare  with  all  haste 
for  a  storm.  The  barometer  had  begun  to  fall  with  appalling  rapidity. 
As  yet,  the  old  sailors  had  not  perceived  even  a  threatening  in  the  sky,  and 
they  were  surprised  at  the  extent  and  hurry  of  the  preparations;  but  the 
required  measures  were  not  complete,  when  a  more  awful  hurricane  burst 
upon  them  than  the  most  experienced  had  ever  braved.  Nothing  could 
withstand  it :  the  sails,  already  furled  and  closely  bound  to  the  yards,  were 
riven  away  in  tatters ;  even  the  bare  yards  and  masts  were  in  great  part 
disabled,  and  at  one  time  the  whole  rigging  had  nearly  fallen  by  the  board. 

16.  "  Such,  for  a  few  hours,  was  the  mingled  roar  of  the  hurricane  above, 
of  the  waves  around,  and  of  the  incessant  peals  of  thunder,  that  no  human 
voice  could  be  heard,  and,  amid  the  general  consternation,  even  the  trum- 
pet sounded  in  vain.  In  that  awful  night,  but  for  the  little  tube  of  mer- 
cury which  had  given  the  warning,  neither  the  extraordinary  strength  of 
the  noble  ship,  nor  the  skill  and  energies  of  the  commander  would  have 
saved  one  man  to  tell  the  tale.  On  the  following  morning  the  wind  was 
again  at  rest,  but  the  ship  lay  upon  the  yet  heaving  waves  an  unsightly 
wreck." 

17.  Ella.  As  the  density  of  air  diminishes  so  rapidly  in  as- 
cending, would  it  not  increase  in  the  same  ratio  in  descend- 
ing below  the  surface  of  the  earth  ? 

Mr.  M.  Certainly ;  and  at  a  depth  of  58  miles  the  air  we 
breathe  would  be  more  dense  than  gold,  or  the  heaviest  known 
substance,  unless  at  that  depth  the  pressure  of  the  air  should 
be  partially  modified  by  the  attraction  of  the  earth  above. 
"We  should  not  think  the  saying."  light  as  air"  very  appro- 
priate under  such  a  pressure.  Who  can  tell  me  on  what 
principle  smoke  is  "  draion  into  the  mouth^''  as  it  is  said,  in 
the  process  of  smoking  a  cigar  ? 

18.  John.  On  the  principle  that  a  vacuum  is  produced  in 
the  mouth  by  the  action  of  the  cheeks,  and  the  smoke  is 
forced  through  the  cigar  by  atmospheric  pressure. 

Ella,  If  that  is  so,  a  cigar  in  the  smoking  process  must 
have^re  at  one  end  and  a  vacuum  at  the  other. 

Mr.  M.  Though  your  remark  is  very  hard  upon  smokers. 


;H4  willson's  fifth  reader.    •  Part  VII. 

it  is  the  true  philosophical  explanation.  Particles  of  snuff 
are  carried  up  into  the  nose,  in  opposition  to  gravity,  by  the 
pressure  of  the  air. 

19.  Ella.  As  the  air  at  different  heights  is  of  different  de- 
grees of  density,  does  it  not  make  a  difference  in  the  weight 
of  bodies  ? 

Mr.  M.  Certainly  it  does ;  it  makes  a  very  great  differ- 
ence. The  more  dense  the  fluid  in  which  the  body  is  weigh- 
ed, the  less  it  weighs — as  you  have  already  seen  that  a  body 
weighs  less  in  water  than  in  the  air  (see  p.  329). 

George.  I  would  like  to  ask  Miss  Ida  which  is  the  heavi- 
est^— a  pound  of  feathers'  or  a  pound  of  lead^  ? 

Ida.  They  are  both  of  the  same  weight,  to  be  sure ! 

20.  Mr.  M.  Do  not  be  too  certain  of  that ;  for  I  think,  after 
a  little  reflection,  you  will  change  your  opinion.  A  pound 
of  feathers,  cork,  or  any  other  bulky  substance  which  just  bal- 
ances a  dense  body,  as  lead  or  gold,  in  the  air,  is  really  heav- 
ier than  the  lead  or  gold.  If  a  lump  of  iron  will  balance  a 
stone  when  both  are  suspended  in  a  tub  of  water,  they  will 
not  balance  when  the  water  is  withdrawn;  but  the  stone, 
which  is  the  more  bulky  substance,  will  be  found  to  weigh 
the  most.  So,  also,  if  a  bag  of  feathers  balance  a  pound  of 
lead  in  the  air,  if  the  scales  are  then  placed  in  the  exhausted 
receiver  of  an  air-pump,  the  feathers  will  be  found  to  weigh 
the  most. 

21.  Ida.  I  understand  the  principle  now.  I  perceive,  also, 
that  if  the  bag  of  feathers  were  lighter  than  the  atmosphere, 
it  would  not  weigh  any  thing  at  all  in  the  open  air,  while  it 
would  weigh  something  in  a  vacuum. 

Mr.  M.  The  feathers,  in  this  case,  would  rise  as  smoke 
does,  until  they  became  of  the  same  specific  gravity  as  the 
surrounding  air.  This  is  the  principle  on  which  the  balloon 
rises,  as  it  is  filled  with  hydrogen  gas,  which  is  only  one  six- 
teenth of  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere.  Although  hydrogen 
gas  weighs  nothing  in  the  atmosphere  near  the  earth,  yet  it 
has  weight. 

Ella.  How  high  have  persons  ascended  in  balloons  ? 

22.  Mr.  M.  Gay-Lussac  reached  a  height  of  more  than  four 
miles  and  a  quarter,  and  brought  down  samples  of  air,  which  he 
analyzed,  and  found  to  consist  of  tlie  same  proportions  of  oxy- 
gen and  hydrogen  gases  as  air  near  the  surfiice  of  the  earth. 

Frank.  I  have  read  that  Napoleon  III.  sent  up  men  in  a 
balloon  to  reconnoiter  the  position  of  the  Austrians  before 
the  battle  of  Solfcrino. 


2dDlV.  OF NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY.  345 

John.  It  must  be  a  very  rapid  way  of  traveling  "on  the 
wings  of  the  wind ;"  for  on  the  first  of  July,  1859,  Mr.  Wise 
and  three  other  persons  ascended  from  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  and 
nineteen  hours  later  landed  in  Jefferson  county,  N.  Y.,  having 
passed  over  a  distance  of  1150  miles.  This  was  traveling 
about  a  mile  in  a  minute. 

23.  Ella.  I  noticed  in  some  of  the  experiments  that  the  out- 
side of  the  glass  receiver  became  covered  with  mist  when  the 
air  was  exhausted.  I  suppose  there  must  be  a  cause  for  it, 
but  I  can  not  imagine  why  it  should  happen. 

Mr.  M.  By  rarefaction  a  greater  degree  of  cold  is  pro- 
duced in  the  receiver,  and  the  vapor  of  the  surrounding  air  is 
condensed  thereby.  The  writer  of  the  "  Botanic  Garden"  has 
thus  described  it : 

"  Now  in  brazen  pumps  the  pistons  move, 
The  membrane  valve  sustains  the  weight  above  ; 
Stroke  follows  stroke,  the  gelid  vapor  falls, 
And  misty  dewdrops  dim  the  ciystal  walls ; 
Rare  and  more  rare  expands  the  fluid  thin, 
And  silence  dwells  with  vacancy  within." 

You  will  understand  the  last  reference  to  "  silence"  when  you 
study  the  subject  of  Acoustics,  or  Sound. 

24.  Ida.  As  high  mountains,  even  in  the  torrid  zone,  are 
covered  with  snow,  is  not  the  air  much  the  coldest  in  the  up- 
per regions  of  the  atmosphere  ? 

Mr.  M.  It  has  been  found  that  it  is  two  degrees  colder  at 
the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  Church  than  on  the  ground ;  and  if 
we  were  to  continue  to  ascend,  the  temperature  would  dimin- 
ish about  one  degree  for  every  hundred  yards.  In  latitude 
36°,  the  mean  height  at  which  water  congeals  is  only  two 
miles. 

25.  John.  Then,  if  we  send  a  bucket  oi  water  up  two  miles 
in  a  balloon,  it  will  come  down  ice. 

Frank.  Is  it  possible  that  water  will  always  freeze,  even 
in  the  bright  sunshine,  within  two  or  three  miles  of  us  ? 

Mr.  M.  It  is  possible  and  probable ;  for  the  same  reason 
that  a  thermometer  will  show  a  diminution  of  heat  in  an  ex- 
hausted receiver,  it  will  indicate  cold  as  it  is  carried  up  to  an 
atmosphere  less  dense. 

26.  Ella.  I  should  think  that  cold  would  make  the  air 
more  dense,  and  that  heat  would  expand  it. 

Mr.  M.  That  is  the  case  with  most  substances  ;  but  air  has 
a  greater  tendency  to  expand  from  diminished  pressure  than 
to  be  contracted  by  the  cold  consequent  on  such  expansion. 

27.  George.  It  must  be  very  difficult  for  the  inhabitants  of 

P2 


346  willson's  ttfth  eeadee.  Pabt  Vn. 

such  cities  as  Quito,  and  others  situated  on  high  mountains,  to 
cook  their  food  by  boihng,  as  water  boils  at  a  lower  tempera- 
ture as  the  pressure  of  air  on  its  surface  is  diminished.  I 
have  read  that  on  Mt.  Blanc,  Saussure  found  the  temperature 
of  boiling  water  to  be  180°,  while  it  was  212°  at  the  sea  level. 
Ella.  He  could  not  boil  potatoes  soft  in  water  of  that  tem- 
perature. But  why  could  he  not  make  the  water  hotter  by 
more  fire  ? 

28.  Mr.  M.  More  fire  can  not  raise  water  to  a  greater  tem- 
perature than  212°  at  the  ocean  level,  nor  more  than  180°  on 
the  summit  of  Mt.  Blanc,  unless  it  is  confined  as  in  a  steam 
boiler. 

Frank.  That  is  the  way  they  measure  the  altitude  of 
mountains  by  boiling  water.  For  every  520  feet  in  height, 
the  boiling  point  is  lowered  one  degree. 

Ella.  I  have  just  calculated  the  height  of  Mt.  Blanc  to  be 
16,640  feet,  or  32  times  520.     But  how  did  Saussure 

"  Breathe  the  difficult  air 
Of  the  iced  mountain  top  ?" 

29.  Mr.M.  He  breathed,  indeed,  with  difficulty;  but  the 
change  was  so  gradual  that  he  experienced  no  permanent 
injury.  Persons  in  going  up  in  balloons  have  ruptured  blood- 
vessels, and  have  had  the  blood  start  from  their  "  very  fin- 
gers' ends"  by  the  withdrawal  of  a  portion  of  the  atmos- 
pheric pressure  to  which  they  had  been  accustomed.  Yet  it 
has  been  noticed  that  the  inhabitants  of  Quito,  Mexico,  and 
other  elevated  places  do  not  sufier  in  this  way,  because  they 
gradually  become  accustomed  to  the  rarity  of  the  atmos- 
phere; and,  moreover,  they  have  larger  chests  than  those 
living  in  lowlands,  because  a  larger  bulk  of  air  is  necessary 
to  furnish  the  requisite  amount  of  oxygen  to  sustain  life. 

30.  George.  It  appears,  then,  that  as  we  rise  from  the  ocean 
level,  the  air  becomes  so  rare  that  we  breathe  it  with  diffi- 
culty ;  and  if  we  should  descend  a  few  miles  into  the  earth, 
it  would  become  so  dense  that  we  could  not  breathe  it. 

Mr.  M.  This  shows  the  law  of  adaptation  ;  that  the  Cre- 
ator has  adapted  our  bodies  to  that  particular  sphere  of  ex- 
istence in  which  he  designed  us  to  move.  Yet  this  is  but 
one  example,  out  of  thousands,  of  a  law  which  pervades  all 
animated  nature. 


2d  DiV.  OF NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY.  34^ 


LESSO^N"   VII. — ATMOSPHERIC  MACHINES. 

1.  Mr.M.  Both  the  balloon  and  the  wind-mill  are  atmos- 
pheric machines ;  but  I  desire  now  to  call  your  attention  to 
others  of  a  somewhat  different  character.  You  have  seen 
that  even  the  process  of  S7noking  a  cigar  is  on  the  principle 
of  atmospheric  pressure.  Can  you  think  of  any  other  illus- 
tration of  this  principle  ? 

Ida.  I  have  seen  boys  with  straws  for  tubes,  and  their 
cheeks  for  air-pumps,  allowing  the  atmosphere  to  force  sweet 
cider  into  their  mouths. 

2.  Ella.  I  believe  that  somewhere  in  South  America  the 
ladies  take  tea  in  that  manner. 

John.  The  negroes  in  some  of  the  West  Indies  are  said  to 
steal  rum  from  full  casks  by  filling  a  bottle  with  water,  and 
inverting  it  in  the  bung-hole  of  the  cask,  somewhat  as  Torri- 
celli  made  his  barometer.  In  this  case,  however,  the  water, 
being  more  dense  than  the  rum,  descends,  while  the  rum 
rises  into  the  bottle. 

3.  George.  Liquids  are  often  transferred  from  one  cask  to 
another  by  means  of  a  bent  tube. 

^  Mr.  31.  This  is  the  siphon.     It  is  first  filled,  and 

^OTA  one  end  is  immersed  in  the  liquid  to  be  discharged. 
■H  \  It  is  always  necessary  that  the  end  from  which 
^^  \  the  liquid  runs  should  be  lower  than  the  surface 
j^^  of  the  liquid  in  the  vessel.  Can  either  of  you  ex- 
Fig.  24,  the    plain  the  action  of  the  siphon  ? 

Siphon.  4,  John.  The  liquid  in  the  long  column  will  run 

out  by  the  force  of  gravity,  and  a  vacuum  would  be  formed 
in  the  tube,  did  not  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  constant- 
ly force  up  a  corresponding  quantity  out  of  the  cup  to  supply 
its  place. 

Ida.  There  must  be  a  siphon  in  that  piece  of 
apparatus  called  Tantalus's  cup,  which  will  never 
get  full,  although  a  small  stream  of  water  is  pour- 
ed in  for  hours.  The  water  runs  out  through  the 
siphon  as  fast  as  it  is  poured  in.  Would  not  this 
be  a  good  way  to  discharge  the  water  from  a 
leaking  ship  ? 

5.  Mr.  M.  The  only  trouble  would  be  that,  if 
^Y^'c^°*^*"  the  siphon  acted  at  all,  the  water  would  run  into 
^  ^  ^'^'      the  ship  instead  of  out  of  it. 


348 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


pabt  vn. 


Fig.  26,  Siphon 
Fountain. 


Fig.  2T. 


I  will  now  show  you  a  siphon  fountain  in  the 
air.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  annexed  figure 
will  sufficiently  explain  its  action. 

Frank.  It  is  perfectly  plain.  The  water  is 
discharged  precisely  as  from  any  other  siphon, 
and  the  long  column  in  the  tube  causes  the 
fountain  by  hydrostatic  pressure. 

6.  Mr.  M.  I  wish  now  to  show  you 
one  of  the  effects  of  running  water.  I 
will  take  the  long  open  tube  B  c,  to 
which  the  branch  a  is  attached,  and 
hold  it  upright,  with  the  pipe  a  reach- 
ing to  the  bottom  of  the  open  jar,  which 
is  filled  with  water.  I  now  pour  a  pitcher  of  water 
into  the  funnel  B.  You  see  the  jar  is  emptied ;  for 
the  water,  running  up  through  a  and  down  the  pipe 
c,  is  discharged  with  the  water  poured  in  at  the  top. 
Who  can  explain  it  ? 

7.  John.  I  suppose  the  column  of  water  in  c  con- 
tracts in  its  descent  in  the  tube,  just  as  a  stream  of  molasses 
does  in  air,  and  consequently  does  not  entirely  fill  the  tube. 
The  water,  too,  by  its  friction,  tends  to  draw  in  the  air  of  the 
tube  a,  and  the  external  air  forces  the  water  of  the  jar  up 
into  the  partial  vacuum  so  formed.  It  is  very  curious,  but 
is  it  of  any  practical  use  ? 

8.  Mr.  M.  It  has  been  made  of  great  use, 
for  marshes  have  been  drained  on  this  prin- 
ciple; and  in  the  circulating  system  of  animals 
there  are  arrangements  of  blood-vessels  by 
which  a  current  of  blood  passing  along  one 
vein  may  assist  in  emptying  a  lateral  branch. 
It  is  by  no  means  necessary  for  the  stream  of 
water  to  descend  vertically,  as  it  may  run  at 
any  angle,  or  even  horizontally. 

Ida.  Does  Hiero's  fountain  depend  upon  at- 
mospheric pressure  ? 

Mr.  M.  It  depends  on  the  pressure  of  a  col- 
umn of  water  and  the  elasticity  of  air.     The 
one  I  have  here  is  mainly  constructed  of  glass, 
Fig.28,Hiero'8  Foun-  ^^  enable  you  to  see  its  mode  of  action.    You 
'  tain.  can  examine  its  principle  at  your  leisure.* 


•  "Hiero's  fountain"  explained.  Water  is  jwurcd  into  the  glass  vessel  B  until  it  is 
nearly  full,  while  the  glaHs  vessel  C  contains  only  air.  Into  the  vessel  A  is  now  poured 
a  little  water,  which  flows  through  the  pipe  F,  and  displaces  some  of  the  air  in  C  by 


2d  DiV.  OP NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY. 


349 


George.  Will  not  the  explanation  of  the  common  pump 
belong  to  this  lesson  ? 

9.  Mr.  M.  Its  principle  has  already  been  illustrated  in  the 
account  which  was  given  of  the  discovery  of  the  weight  of  the 
atmosphere.  It  is  evident  that  we  have  only  to  exhaust  the 
air  in  a  pipe,  the  open  end  of  which  is  placed  in  water,  and 
the  water  will  be  pressed  up  to  fill  the  vacuum.  Here  are 
illustrations  of  two  difierent  kinds  of  pumps,  one  of  which  is 
the  forcing-pump,  which  illustrates  the  principle  of  the  fire- 
engine.* 

Frank.  Darwin  very  prettily  explains  the  action  of  the 
common  pump  in  the  following  lines  : 

"  Thus  does  the  sliding  piston  bear 
The  viewless  columns  of  incumbent  air ; 
Press' d  by  the  incumbent  air,  the  floods  below, 
Through  opening  valves,  in  foaming  torrents  flow, 
Foot  after  foot  with  lessened  impulse  move, 
And,  rising,  seek  the  vacancy  above." 


forcing  it  up  through  D.  There  is  now  a  pressure  of  air  on  the  water  in  B  equivalent 
to  the  pressure  exerted  (on  the  principle  of  the  hydrostatic  paradox)  by  the  column  of 
water  in  F,  and  this  pressure  is  exerted  to  throw  the  water  up  through  E  and  cause  the 
play  of  the  fountain.  Thus  the  contents  of  B  are  actually  transferred  to  C,  and  the  air 
that  was  in  C  passes  into  B.  When  C  thus  becomes  filled  with  water  and  B  with  air,  the 
fountain  must  stop. 


Fig.  29. 


Fig.  30. 


The  common  pump,  represented  by 
Fig.  29,  consists  of  three  parts,  the  suc- 
tion-pipe, the  barrel,  and  the  piston. 
The  suction-pipe,  /  e,  is  of  sufficient 
length  to  reach  down  to  the  water  in 
the  well.  The  barrel,  C  B,  is  a  perfect 
cylindrical  cavity,  in  which  the  piston 
G  moves,  air-tight,  up  and  down  by 
the  rod  d.  It  is  commonly  moved  by 
a  lever,  but  in  the  figure  a  rod  and 
handle,  D  E,  are  represented.  On  one 
side  is  the  spout  F.  At  the  top  of  the 
suction-pipe  at  H  there  is  a  valve,  &, 
opening  upward,  and  also  one  at  a. 
When  the  pistofl  is  raised  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  barrel,  a  vacuum  is  pro- 
duced in  the  barrel,  the  valve  h  opeuR, 
and  if  the  pipe,  /  c,  be  full  of  water,  the 
water  rushes  into  the  barrel,  being 
pressed  up  by  the  atmosphere  resting 
on  the  water  in  the  well.  On  depress- 
ing the  piston  >he  water  rushes  up 
through  the  valve  a,  and  after  a  few 
movements  the  water  is  poured  out  at 
the  spout  F. 

In  tjhe  forcing-pump,  Fig.  30,  the 
piston,  7,  has  no  valve.  On  the  box  at 
H  is  a  valve,  6,  opening  upward,  and 
when  the  piston  is  elevated  the  water 
rises  into  the  barrel,  B  C  During  the 
downward  movement  of  the  piston  the  valve  b  shuts,  and  the  water  passes  by  a  channel 
around  w,  through  the  lateral  pipe  M  O  M  N  into  the  air-ckamber^  K  K.  The  entrance 
to  this  air-chamber  is  closed  by  a  valve  at  a,  and  from  the  chamber  proceeds  a  tube,  H  G, 
open  at  both  ends.  After  a  few  movements  of  the  piston  the  lower  end  of  this  tube  be- 
comes covered  with  water,  the  air  is  compressed  into  the  space  6  H,  and  thereby  the  water 
is  thrown  out  in  a  continuous  jet,  S. 


350 


willson's  fifth  eeadee. 


paet  vn. 


10.  Mr.  M.  Do  you  know  of  any  instrument  besides  the 
forcing-pump  and  the  fire-engine  that  acts  upon  the  principle 
of  condensed  air  ? 

John.  I  have  seen  an  air-gun  charged  with  air  instead  of 
powder. 

Mr.  M.  That  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  principle  that  the 
density  and  elasticity  of  air  are  directly  as  the  force  of  com- 
pression.    Here  is  a  drawing  of  the  air-gun.     Air  is  con- 
densed   into    the 
y  ball  A,  which  is 
attached    to    the 
gun.     A  bullet  is 
Fig.  31,  the  Air-gun.  then  put  into  the 

barrel,  and  by  a  peculiar  lock  a  portion  of  the  condensed  air 
is  let  in  behind  the  bullet,  which  is  thrown  out  with  almost 
V  the  force  of  gunpowder. 

George.  Can  another  bullet  be  thrown  out  without  refill- 
ing the  ball  ? 

W.^Mr.  M.  Yes,  a  dozen  or  more;  but  each  one  with  less 
force  than  the  one  before  it,  as  the  air  in  the  ball  gradually 
loses  its  density,  and  consequently  its  elasticity.  Sometimes 
the  air-chamber  is  in  the  stock  of  the  gun,  which  makes  it 
more  convenient. 

John.  I  have  made  little  fountains  by  inserting 
through  the  cork  of  a  bottle  half  filled  with  water 
a  common^pipe-stem,  and  after  blowing  through 
the  tube  the  water  would  spout  up  to  a  considerable 
height.  Was  not  this  owing  to  condensed  air  press- 
ing on  the  surface  of  the  water  ? 

Mr.  M.  It  was   caused  by  condensed  air ;  but 

you  had  to  be  careful  to  let  the  tube  reach  below 

Fig.  82,  Bottle  the  surfaco  of  the  water? 
Fountain.        ElUi.  Is  uot  the  kite  an  atmospheric  machine  ? 
12.  Mr.  M.  Yes;  and  althougli  it  is  2. playing  machine,  it 
is  elevated  on  strictly  scientific  principles.     It  is  really  pulled 
up  an  inclined  plane  of  air  by  the  tension  and  weight  of  the 
string.* 

•  Fip.  33.  The  kite  here  appears  in  the 
act  of  risiug  from  the  ground.  A  a  the 
wind,  coming  from  the  direction  of  W, 
fulls  uiwn  tJie  oblique  surface  of  the  kite, 
it  is  resolved  into  two  forces,  one  parallel 
to  that  surface  (B  Ot,  and  the  other  per- 
pendicular to  it  (V  0>,  of  which  the  latter 
only  will  produce  any  effect,  carrying  the 
kite  along  the  line  O  A.  But  the  kite  is 
also  pulled  in  the  direction  S  T.     It  is  therefore  under  the  influence  of  the  two  forces  O  A 


2d  DiV.  OP NATUEAL   PHILOSOPHY.  351 

Ida.  And  so  the  kite  slid  down  the  plane  when  the  boy 
clapped  his  hands  and  let  the  string  slip  through  his  silly 
fingers ! 

Frank.  This  reminds  me  of  a  very  pretty  piece  of  poetry 
about  "  the  lost  kite." 

Mr.  M.  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  imbued  with  the  poetry 
of  science ;  and  as  this  lesson  has  not  been  very  poetical,  you 
may  repeat  the  piece,  if  you  please.  n 

THE  LOST  KITE. 

13.  My  kite !  my  kite !  I've  lost  my  kite  ! 
Oh !  when  I  saw  the  steady  flight 
With  which  she  gained  her  lofty  height, 

How  could  I  know  that  letting  go  * 

That  naughty  string  would  bring  so  low 
My  pretty,  buoyant,  darling  kite, 
To  pass  forever  out  of  sight  ? 

14.  A  purple  cloud  was  sailing  by, 
With  silver  fringes  o'er  the  sky; 
And  then  I  thought,  it  seemed  so  nigh, 
I'd  make  my  kite  go  up  and  light 
Upon  its  edge  so  soft  and  bright, 

To  see  how  noble,  high,  and  proud 
She'd  look  while  riding  on  a  cloud  1 

15.  As  near  her  shining  mark  she  drew, 

I  clapped  my  hands  ;  the  line  slipped  through 

My  silly  fingers ;  and  she  flew 

Away !  away !  in  airy  play. 

Eight  over  where  the  water  lay  I 

She  veered  and  fluttered,  swung,  and  gave 

A  plunge,  then  vanished  in  the  wave !  * 

16.  I  never  more  shall  want  to  look 

On  that  false  cloud  or  babbling  brook  ; 
Nor  e'er  to  feel  the  breeze  that  took 
My  dearest  joy,  to  thus  destroy 
The  pastime  of  your  happy  boy. 
My  kite !  my  kite !  how  sad  to  think 
She  flew  so  high,  so  soon  to  sink ! 

17.  "  Be  this,"  the  mother  said,  and  smiled, 
"  A  lesson  to  thee,  simple  child  ! 

And  when,  by  fancies  vain  and  wild 
As  that  which  cost  the  kite  that's  lost, 
Thy  busy  brain  again  is  crossed, 
Of  shining  vapor  then  beware. 
Nor  trust  thy  joys  to  fickle  air  1 

18.  *'  I  have  a  darling  treasure,  too. 

That  sometimes  would,  by  slipping  through 
My  guardian  hands,  the  way  pursue 
From  which,  more  tight  than  thou  tliy  kite, 
I  hold  my  jewel,  new  and  bright. 
Lest  he  should  stray  without  a  guide, 
To  drown  my  hopes  in  sorrow's  tide  I" 

19.  Mr.M.  There  are  many  natural  phenomena  dependent 
on  the  atmosphere  which  we  shall  learn  in  the  department  of 
Physical  Geography.     But,  before  we  conclude  this  lesson  on 

and  S  T ;  and  since  these  are  in  the  direction  of  the  two  sides  of  a  parallelogram,  it  will 
not  obey  either,  but  ascend  through  O  B,  its  diagonal.  (See  Fourth  Reader,  p.  298.)  It  la 
thus  virtually  pulled  up  the  inclined  plane  O  B. 


;?52  willson's  fifth  reader.  PabtVII. 

pneumatics,  I  desire  to  read  you  a  riddle,  hoping  each  of  you 
will  be  CEdipus  enough  to  guess  the  answer. 

A  RIDDLE. 

20.  "  Mortal',  wouldst  thou  knov  ray  name', 

Scan  the  powers  I  proudly  claim\ 

O'er  this  globe's  capacious  round 

With  foiry  sprightliness  I  bound  ^ ; 

O'er  sea  and  land  my  power  extends, 

To  every  herb  my  care  descends. 

Did  I  withhold  my  vital  breath', 

Nature's  forms  would  sink  in  deatli\ 

When  confined,  or  swiftly  driven 

By  angry  spirits  in  the  heaven', 

My  wrath  in  thunders  I  make  known\ 
^  And  Discord  claims  me  as  her  own\ 

r  'Tis  love  of  freedom  makes  me  wild — 

When  uncontroll'd,  my  nature's  mild; 

And  oft  the  nymph',  in  dewy  grot'. 

Seeks  solace  from  my  plaintive  note' ; 

O'er  lovers'  graves  I  waft  a  sigh. 

And  breathe  the  sound  of  sympathy. 

21.  And  know,  ye  sons  of  Albion's  isle', 
That  when  the  Hero  of  the  Nile," 

Midst  crowds  with  mournful  pomp  array'd. 
In  the  cold  lap  of  Earth  was  laid', 
I  sympathized  with  Britain's  tear, 
And  waved  the  banner  o'er  his  bier\ 
'Tis  I  who  from  the  trembling  lyre 
Breathe  tones  of  love  and  soft  desire' ; 
'Tis  I,  the  spirit  of  the  shell, 
Who  fill  with  notes  the  listening  deir  ; 
And,  when  the  Avar-trump  sounds  alarm', 
'Tis  I  who  summon  men  to  arm\ 
Made  captive  by  the  arts  of  man'. 
My  various  services  began^ ; 
To  grind  his  corn\  to  drain  his  lands\ 
I  soon  was  tasked',  to  spare  his  hands\ 
Should  he  to  foreign  climes  proceed', 
lie  yokes  me  like  the  neighing  steed\ 
And,  by  my  quick  but  easy  motion', 
He  traverses  the  stormy  ocean\ 

22.  His  children,  too,  my  presence  court'. 

To  give  them  toys',  and  make  them  sport^: 
Without  my  aid,  their  kites  would  lie 
As  useless  weight'<,  that  ne'er  could  fly^ ; 
Their  humming-tops  would  soundless  spin, 
Unless  I  breathed  a  spell  within^ : 
The  modest  maid,  without  my  i)ower. 
Would  wither  like  lier  kindred  flower\ 
Unless  my  cup  of  sweets  she  sips'. 
Where  are  the  rubies  of  lier  lips^  ? 
Unless  my  glowing  nnigo  slie  seeks'. 
Where  are  the  roses  of  her  cheeks^  ? 
What  art  again  can  strew  her  tre-sses 
With  half  the  grace  my  skill  possesses^? 
Ev'n  goddesses  are  represented 
In  draperies  which  I  invented. 
Sometimes',  'tis  true',  I  am  so  frail 
As  ruffian-like  to  raise  your  veil'. 
And  thus  to  curious  man  n^voal 
The  charms  you  modestly  coTicear. 
l^evonge  the  deed\     Announce  my  \nnie\ 
For  now  you  know  the  powers  1  ciaim\" 

23.  "  It  must  be  a?V,"  exclaimed  the  whole  class  with  one 


2d  DiV.  OF NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY.  853 

voice.     "  But  what  is  meant  by  the  allusion  to  the  funeral  of 
the  '  hero  of  the  Nile  V  "  said  Ida. 

Mr.  M.  I  quote  an  extract  from  the  description  of  the  cere- 
monies of  Nelson's  interment  in  St.  Paul's :  "  Never  shall  I 
forget  the  thrilling  effect  which  was  produced  on  the  assem- 
bled multitude  by  the  solemn  movement  of  the  banners  in  the 
dome  as  the  bier  slowly  advanced  along  the  aisle  in  the  Ca- 
thedral ;  a  movement  which  was  accidentally  occasioned  by  a 
current  of  air  from  the  western  entrance,  although,  to  the 
eye  of  fancy,  it  seemed  as  if  some  attendant  spirit  had  direct- 
ed the  colors,  under  which  the  hero  had  bled  and  conquered, 
to  offer  this  supernatural  testimony  of  respect  and  sorrow." 


LESSON   VIII. ^THE   STEAM-ENGINE. 

1.  "  YoiT  recollect,"  said  Mr. Maynard,  "that  it  was  stated 
in  a  former  lesson  that  water  does  not  require  to  be  so  hot 
to  boil  when  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  is  partially  re- 
moved, as  it  does  when  it  is  subject  to  that  pressure." 

John.  I  recollect  it,  and  I  would  ask  if  it  does  not  require 
a  higher  temperature  when  the  pressure  is  increased. 

2.  Mr.  M.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  of  the  pressure 
of  one  atmosphere,  of  15  pounds  on  the  square  inch,  water 
boils  at  the  temperature  of  212°;  but  increase  the  pressure 
to  45  pounds  on  each  square  inch,  or  three  atmospheres,  and 
it  will  not  boil  below  275°. 

Frank.  There  is  a  kind  of  kettle,  made  very  strong,  with 
an  air-tight  cover  which  is  fastened  down,  and  as  the  steam 
which  first  rises  presses  down  by  its  elasticity,  the  water  be- 
comes hot  enough  to  cook  bones. 

3.  Mr.  M.  That  is  called  Papin's  Digester,  and  in  it  the 
water  really  never  boils,  but  it  becomes  sufficiently  hot  to 
cause  the  separation  of  the  gelatinous  matter  from  bones. 
As  this  is  used  for  soup,  I  suppose  you  call  it  cooking  bones. 

Ella.  I  sh^uld  not  like  to  have  one  of  those  dangerous  ket- 
tles in  our  kitchen,  for  fear  it  would  burst. 

Mr.  M.  It  has  an  orifice  closed  with  a  plug,  which  is  held 
down  by  a  weight  until  a  certain  pressure  is  exerted  by  the 
steam,*  when  it  rises  up  and  lets  the  steam  escape.  It  then 
falls  back  again  until  the  pressure  becomes  sufficient  to  raise  it. 

4.  Ida.  Is  that  what  is  called  the  safety  valve  ? 

Mr.  M.  It  is ;  and  safety  valves  are  used  in  all  boilers  where 
the  steam  is  liable  to  be  very  much  compressed. 


354 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Part  VII. 


George. .  In  preparing  for  this  lesson,  I  learned  that  one 
cubic  inch  of  water  will  form  about  a  cubic  foot  of  steam, 
which  will  be  condensed  into  a  cubic  inch  of  water  again 
when  cooled  below  the  boihng-point. 

5.  Mr.  M.  You  have  learned  in  that  fact  the  great  princi- 
ple on  which  the  steam-engine  acts.  The  in- 
strument represented  in  the  figure  gives  a  clear 
idea  of  the  elementary  parts  of  what  is  called 
the  low-pressure  steam-engine.*  It  consists  of 
a  cylindrical  glass  tube,  B,  terminating  in  a 
bulb,  A.  In  the  tube  a  piston  moves  up  and 
down,  air-tight,  and  a  little  water  having  been 
placed  in  the  bulb,  it  is  brought  to  the  boiling- 
point  by  the  application  of  a  lamp.  As  the 
steam  forms,  it  presses  the  piston  upward  by 
reason  of  its  elastic  force ;  but  on  dipping  the 

Fig.  34.  |3^||J  jjj^Q  (jqJ^  water,  the  steam  condenses,  and 
produces  a  partial  vacuum,  and  the  piston  is  then  driven  dowDr 
ward  by  the  pressure  of  the  external  air. 

6.  John.  And  if  the  rod  attached  to  the  piston  were  made 
to  turn  a  crank,  or  work  a  lever,  it  would  very  well  illustrate 
the  working  of  a  steam-engine. 

•  Low-pressure  Engine,Fig.  35. 
The  chief  parts  of  this  engine 
are  the  boiler^  A,  tlie  cTjlinder, 
<J,  the  piston-rod,  I  J,  tlie  con- 
denser^ L,  and  tlie  air-pump,  M. 
B  is  the  atcam-pipe^  branching 
into  two  arms,  conimnnicating 
respectively  with  the  top  and  bot- 
tom of  the  cylinder,  and  K  is  the 
eduction-pipi',  formed  of  the  two 
branches  which  proceed  from  the 
top  and  bottom  of  the  cylinder, 
and  communicating  with  the  cyl- 
inder and  the  condenser.  N  is  a 
cistern,  or  well  of  cold  water,  in 
which  the  condenser  is  immersed. 
Each  branch  of  pipe  has  its  own 
valve,  as  F,  G,  1^,  l^,  which  may 
be  opened  or  closed  as  the  occa- 
sion requires.  Suppose,  first,  that 
all  the  valves  are  open,  whil  • 

Bteam  is  issuing  freely  from  the  boiler.  It  Is  easy  to  see  that  the  steam 
would  circulate  freely  throughout  all  parts  of  the  machine,  expelling  the 
air,  which  would  escape  through  the  valve  in  the  piston  of  the  air-pump, 
and  thus  the  Interior  spaces  would  all  he  filled  with  steam.  This  proc 
ess  is  called  blowing  through  ;  it  is  heard  when  a  steam-boat  Is  about  set- 
ting oft.  Next,  the  valves  F  and  Q  are  closed,  O  and  P  remaining  open.  The  jteam  now 
pressing  the  cylinder  forces  it  down,  and  the  instatit  when  it  begins  to  descend  the  stop- 
cock O  is  opened,  admitting  cold  water,  which  meets  the  steam  as  it  rushes  from  the  cyl- 
inder, and  effectually  condenses  it,  leaving  no  force  below  the  piston  to  oppose  its  desci>ut. 
Lastly,  G  and  P  being  closed,  V  and  Q  are  opened,  the  steam  flows  in  below  the  piston, 
and  ;;ii8he9  from  above  it  Into  the  condenser,  by  which  means  the  piston  is  forced  up  again 
with  the  same  power  as  that  with  which  it  descended.  Meanwhile  the  air-pump  is  play- 
ing, and  removing  the  water  and  air  from  the  condenser. 


2d  DiV.  OF NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY.  355 

Mr.  M.  Can  George  now  tell  in  what  respect  the  high- 
pressure  steam-eSigine  differs  from  the  low-pressure  ? 

George.  In  the  high-pressure  engine,  the  steam,  being  ad- 
mitted lirst  on  one  side  of  the  piston  and  then  on  the  other, 
is  pushed  out  against  the  atmosphere ;  but  in  the  low-press- 
ure, a  partial  vacuum  is  produced  alternately  on  each  side  of 
the  piston  by  allowing  the  steam  to  escape  into  a  fountain  of 
cold  water,  which  condenses  it. 

7.  Mr.  M.  I  have  here  a  very  interesting  description  of  the 
steam-engine,  and  of  its  wonderful  power  and  multiplied  uses, 
by  IJr.  Arnott,  and  I  will  read  the  closing  part  of  it  to  you. 
In  the  view  here  taken  of  it,  you  see  the  steam-engine  is  not 
only  a  wonderful  instrument  in  itself,  but  one  of  the  most  ef- 
fective instruments  of  human  progress  and  civilization  ever 
invented. 

8.  "It  regulates  with  perfect  accuracy  and  uniformity  the  number  of 
its  strokes  in  a  given  time,  counting  or  recording  them,  moreover,  to  tell 
how  much  work  it  has  done,  as  a  clock  records  the  beats  of  its  pendulum ; 
it  regulates  the  quantity  of  steam  admitted  to  work,  the  briskness  of  the 
fire,  the  supply  of  water  to  the  boiler,  the  supply  of  coals  to  the  fire;  it 
opens  and  shuts  its  valves  with  absolute  precision  as  to  time  and  manner ; 
it  oils  its  joints ;  it  takes  out  any  air  which  may  accidentally  enter  into 
parts  which  should  be  vacuous ;  and  when  any  thing  goes  wrong  which  it 
can  not  of  itself  rectify,  it  warns  its  attendants  by  ringing  a  bell. 

9.  ' '  Yet  with  all  these  talents  and  qualities,  and  even  when  exerting  the 
power  of  six  hundred  horses,  it  is  obedient  to  the  hand  of  a  child.  Its  ali- 
ment is  coal,  wood,  charcoal,  or  other  combustibles ;  it  consumes  none  while 
idle ;  it  never  tires,  and  wants  no  sleep ;  it  is  not  subject  to  malady  when 
originally  well  made,  and  only  refuses  to  work  when  worn  out  with  age ; 
it  is  equally  active  in  all  climates,  and  will  do  work  of  any  kind ;  it  is  a 
water-pumper,  a  miner,  a  sailor,  a  cotton-spinner,  a  weaver,  a  blacksmith, 
a  miller,  etc. ,  etc. ;  and  a  small  engine,  in  the  character  of  a  steam  pony^ 
maybe  seen  dragging  after  it  on  a  ?•a^7-road  a  hundred  tons  of  merchandise, 
or  a  regiment  of  soldiers,  with  greater  speed  than  that  of  our  fleetest  coach- 
es. It  is  the  king  of  machines,  and  a  permanent  realization  of  the  genii 
of  Eastern  fable,  whose  supernatural  powers  were  occasionally  at  the  com- 
mand of  man." 

10.  Frank.  Dr.  Arnott  speaks  of  a  steam  pony  which  is 
used  on  a  rail-vo^.  This  must  be  the  very  pony  which  gave 
the  poet  Saxe  such  a  pleasant  "  ride  on  the  rail," 

"  Singing  througli  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges; 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains. 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale, 
Bless  me  !  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  rail!" 

11.  Mr.  M.  It  would  have  been  fortunate  if  poets  had  writ- 
ten more  on  scientific  and  philosophical  subjects,  as  the  Ian- 


356  WILLSON'S   FIFTH   READER.  Part  VII. 

guage  of  poetry  is  so  well  calculated  to  impress  truths  on  the 
mind.  In  addition  to  the  extract  from  Dr.  Arnott,  I  have  one 
from  Lord  Jeffrey  on  the  same  subject,  the  steam-engme, 
which  I  will  read  to  you. 

12.  The  Steam-engine. — "It  has  become  a  thing  stupendous  alike  for 
its  force'  and  its  flexibility' ;  for  the  prodigious  power  which  it  can  exert', 
and  the  ease,  precision,  and  ductility  with  which  it  can  be  varied,  distrib- 
uted, and  applied\  The  trunk  of  an  elephant,  that  can  pick  up  a  pin'  or 
rend  an  oak\  is  as  nothing  to  it.  It  can  engrave  a  seal',  and  crush  masses 
of  obdurate  metal  before  it' ;  draw  out,  without  breaking,  a  thread  as  fine 
as  gossamer',  and  lift  up  a  ship  of  war  like  a  bauble  in  the  air\  It  can 
embroider  muslin'  and  forge  anchors' ;  cut  steel  into  ribbons',  anc^impel 
loaded  vessels  against  the  fury  of  the  winds  and  waves'. 

But  I  perceive,  George,  that  you  also  have  something  which 
you  wish  to  read.  If  it  has  any  connection  with  this  subject, 
we  will  hear  it  if  you  please,  and  let  it  conclude  this  lesson. 

George,  It  is  a  few  verses  from  a  little  poem  entitled 

THE  SONG  OF  STEAM,  by  G.  W.  Cutler. 

13.  Harness  me  down  with  your  iron  bands, 

Be  sure  of  your  curb  and  rein, 
For  I  scorn  tiic  power  of  your  puny  handa 

As  the  tempest  scorns  a  chain. 
How  I  laughed,  as  I  lay  concealed  from  sight 

For  many  a  countless  hour, 
9k  the  childish  boast  of  human  might. 

And  the  pride  of  human  pov/^er. 
14  Ha !  ha !  ha !  they  found  me  at  last. 

They  invited  me  fortli  at  length. 
And  I  rushed  to  my  throne  with  a  thunder-blast, 

And  laughed  in  my  iron  strength. 
Oh  then  ye  saw  a  wondrous  change 

On  earth  and  ocean  wide, 
Where  now  my  fieiy  armies  range, 

Nor  wait  for  wind  nor  tide. 
IR  Hurra !  huiTa !  the  watei-s  o'er 

Tlie  mountain' s  steep  decline ; 
Time,  npace,  have  yielded  to  my  power, 

The  world !  the  world  is  mine ! 
The  rivers  the  sun  hath  earliest  bless'd. 

And  those  where  his  beams  decline. 
The  giant  streams  of  the  queenly  west. 

And  the  orient  floods  divine. 

16.  I  blow  the  bellows,  I  forge  the  steel. 

In  all  the  shopa  of  trade  ;  ^ 

I  hammer  the  ore,  and  turn  the  wheel    ^ 

Where  my  arms  of  strength  are  made ; 
I  manage  the  furnace,  the  mill,  the  mint, 

I  carry,  I  spin,  I  weave ; 
And  all  my  doings  I  put  in  print 

On  every  Saturday  eve. 

17,  Pve  no  muscle  to  weary,  no  breast  to  decay, 

No  bones  to  be  laid  on  the  shelf; 
And  8(X)n  I  Intend  j-ou  may  go  and  play, 

Wliile  I  manage  this  world  myself. 
But,  harness  me  down  with  your  iron  bands. 

Be  sure  of  your  curb  and  rein. 
For  I  scorn  the  strength  of  your  puny  hands. 

As  the  tempest  scorna  a  chaia. 


SEVENTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 


LESSON    I. BLESSINGS    ON   CHILDREN. 

1.  Blessings  on  the  blessing  children,  sweetest  gifts  of  Heaven  to  earth, 
Filling  all  the  heart  with  gladness,  filling  all  the  house  with  mirth ; 
Bringing  with  them  native  sweetness,  pictures  of  the  primal  bloom 
"Which  the  bliss  forever  gladdens,  of  the  region  whence  they  come  ; 
Bringing  with  them  joyous  impulse  of  a  state  withouten  care, 
And  a  buoyant  faith  in  being,  which  makes  all  in  nature  fair ; 
Not  a  doubt  to  dim  the  distance,  not  a  grief  to  vex  the  nigh, 

■    And  a  hope  that  in  existence  finds  each  hour  a  luxury ; 

Going  singing,  bounding,  brightening — never  fearing  as  they  go, 
That  the  innocent  shall  tremble,  and  the  loving  find  a  foe ; 


358  willson's  fifth  eeadee. 

In  the  daylight,  in  the  starlight,  still  with  thought  that  freely  flies, 
Prompt  and  joyous,  with  no  ques'tion  of  the  beauty  in  the  skies; 
Genial  fancies  winning  raptures,  as  the  bee  still  sucks  her  store, 
All  the  present  still  a  garden  glean'd  a  thousand  times  before  ; 
All  the  future  but  a  region  where  the  happy  serving  thought, 
Still  depicts  a  thousand  blessings,  by  the  winge'd  hunter  caught ; 
Life  a  chase  where  blushing  pleasures  only  seem  to  strive  in  flight, 
Lingering  to  be  caught,  and  yielding  gladly  to  the  proud  delight ; 
As  the  maiden,  through  the  alleys,  looking  backward  as  she  flies, 
Woos  the  fond  pursuer  onward,  with  the  love-light  in  her  eyes. 

2.  Oh  !  the  happy  life  in  children,  still  restoring  joy  to  ours, 
Making  for  the  forest  music,  planting  for  the  wayside  flowers ; 
Back  recalling  all  the  sweetness,  in  a  pleasure  pure  as  rare, 
Back  the  past  of  hope  and  rapture  bringing  to  the  heart  of  care. 
How,  as  swell  the  happy  voices,  bursting  through  the  shady  grove, 
Memories  take  the  place  of  sorrows,  time  restores  the  sway  to  love ! 
We  are  in  the  shouting  comrades,  shaking  off"  the  load  of  years, 
Thought  forgetting,  strifes  and  trials,  doubts,  and  agonies,  and  tears ; 
We  are  in  the  bounding  urchin,  as  o'er  hill  and  plain  he  darts, 
Share  the  struggle  and  the  triumph,  gladdening  in  his  heart  of  hearts ; 
What  an  image  of  the  vigor  and  the  glorious  grace  we  knew, 

When  to  eager  youth  from  boyhood  at  a  single  bound  we  grew  I 
Even  such  our  slender  beauty,  such  upon  our  cheek  the  glow, 
In  our  eyes  the  life  of  gladness — of  our  blood  the  overflow, 
Bless  the  mother  of  the  urchin  !  in  his  form  we  see  her  truth  : 
He  is  now  the  very  picture  of  the  memories  in  our  youth ; 
Never  can  we  doubt  the  forehead,  nor  the  sunny  flowing  hair. 
Nor  the  smiling  in  the  dimple  speaking  chin  and  cheek  so  fair : 
Bless  the  mother  of  the  young  one  !  he  hath  blended  in  his  grace, 
All  the  hope,  and  joy,  and  beauty,  kindling  once  in  either  f|ice ! 

3.  Oh !  the  happy  faith  of  children,  that  is  glad  in  all  it  sees, 
And  with  never  need  of  thinking,  pierces  still  its  mysteries ; 
In  simplicity  profoundest,  in  their  soul  abundance  bless'd, 
Wise  in  value  of  the  sportive,  and  in  restlessness  at  rest ; 
Lacking  every  creed,  yet  having  faith  so  large  in  all  they  see, 
That  to  know  is  still  to  gladden,  and  'tis  rapture  but  to  be. 

What  trim  fancies  bring  them  flowers ;  what  rare  spirits  w^lk  their  wood, 
What  a  wondrous  world  the  moonlight  harbors  of  the  gay  and  good  ! 
Unto  them  the  very  tempest  walks  in  glories  grateful  still, 
And  the  lightning  gleams,  a  seraph,  to  persuade  them  to  the  hill : 
'Tis  a  sweet  and  loving  spirit,  that  throughout  the  midnight  rains, 
Broods  beside  the  shutter'd  windows,  and  with  gentle  love  complains , 
And  how  wooing,  how  exalting,  with  the  richness  of  her  dyes, 
Spans  the  painter  of  the  rainbow,  her  bright  arch  along  the  skies, 
With  a  dream  like  Jacob's  ladder,  showing  to  the  fancy's  sight, 
How  'twere  easy  for  the  sad  one  to  escape  to  worlds  of  light ! 
Ah  !  the  wisdom  of  such  fancies,  and  the  truth  in  ever}'  dream, 
That  to  faith  confiding  offers,  cheering  every  gloom,  a  gleam! 
Happy  hearts,  still  cherish  fondly  each  delusion  of  your  youth, 
Joy  is  born  of  well  believing,  and  the  fiction  wraps  the  truth.  ^ 

W.  G.  Sums 


SEVENTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  359 


LESSON"   II. — THE   SAEACEN   BBOTHEES. 
SALADIN — MALEK   ADHEL — ATTENDANT. 

Attendant.  A  stranger  craves  admittance  to  your  highness. 

Saladin.  Whence  comes  he? 

Attendant.  That  I  know  not. 
Enveloped  with  a  vestment  of  strange  form, 
His  countenance  is  hidden  ;  but  his  step, 
His  lofty  port,  his  voice  in  vain  disguised, 
Proclaim — if  that  I  dare  pronounce  it — 

Saladin.  Whom? 

Attendant.  Thy  royal  brother ! 

Saladin.  Bring  him  instantly.     {^Exit  Attendant."] 
Now,  with  his  specious,  smooth,  persuasive  tongue, 
Fraught  with  some  wily  subterfuge,  he  thinks 
To  dissipate  my  anger.     He  shall  die ! 

[Enter  Attendant  and  Maleh  Adhel.'] 
Leave  us  together.     [_Exit  Attendant.]     \_Aside.]  I  should  know  that  form. 
Now  summon  all  thy  fortitude,  my  soul. 
Nor,  though  thy  blood  cry  for  him,  spare  the  guilty ! 
\_Aloud.]  Well  stranger,  speak  ;  but  first  unveil  thyself. 
For  Saladin  must  view  the  form  that  fronts  him. 

Malek  Adhel.  Behold  it,  then! 

Saladin.  I  see  a  traitor's  visage. 

Malek  Adhel.  A  brother's ! 

Saladin.  No! 
Saladin  owns  no  kindred  with  a  villain. 

Malek  Adhel.  Oh,  patience.  Heaven !     Had  any  tongue  but  thine 
Uttered  that  word,  it  ne'er  should  speak  another. 

Saladin.  And  why  not  now?     Can  this  heart  be  more  pierced 
By  Malek  Adhel's  sword  than  by  his  deeds  ? 
Oh,  thou  hast  made  a  desert  of  this  bosom  1 
For  open  candor,  planted  sly  disguise ; 
For  confidence,  suspicion  ;  and  the  glow 
Of  generous  friendship,  tenderness,  and  love, 
Forever  banished !     Whither  can  I  turn. 
When  he  by  blood,  by  gratitude,  by  faith. 
By  every  tie,  bound  to  support,  forsakes  me  ? 
Who,  who  can  stand,  when  Malek  Adhel  falls  ? 
Henceforth  I  turn  me  from  the  sweets  of  love : 
The  smiles  of  friendship,  and  this  glorious  world, 
In  which  all  find  some  heart  to  rest  upon, 
Shall  be  to  Saladin  a  cheerless  void — 
His  brother  has  betrayed  him ! 

Malek  Adhel.  Thou  art  softened ; 
I  am  thy  brother,  then  ;  but  late  thou  saidst — 
My  tongue  can  never  utter  the  base  title ! 

Saladin.  Was  it  traitor  ?     True  ! 
Thou  hast  betrayed  me  in  my  fondest  hopes ! 
Villain?     'Tisjust;  the  title  is  appropriate ! 
Dissembler  ?     'Tis  not  written  in  thy  face ; 


360  willson's  fifth  rbadbr. 

No,  nor  imprinted  on  that  specious  brow ; 

But  on  this  breaking  heart  the  name  is  stamped, 

Forever  stamjjed,  with  that  of  Malek  Adhel  I 

Thinkest  thou  I'm  softened  ?     By  Mohammed !  these  hands 

Shall  crush  these  aching  eyeballs  ere  a  tear 

Fall  from  them  at  thy  fate !     Oh  monster,  monster ! 

The  brute  that  tears  the  infant  from  its  nurse 

Is  excellent  to  thee ;  for  in  his  form 

The  impulse  of  his  nature  may  be  read  ; 

But  thou,  so  beautiful,  so  proud,  so  noble, 

Oh,  what  a  wretch  art  thou  !     Oh,  can  a  term 

In  all  the  various  tongues  of  man  be  found 

To  match  thy  infamy  ? 

Malek  Adhel.  Go  on  !  go  on ! 
'Tis  but  a  little  time  to  hear  thee,  Saladin  ;  v 

And,  bursting  at  thy  feet,  this  heart  will  prove 
Its  penitence,  at  least. 

Saladin.  That  were  an  end 
Too  noble  for  a  traitor !     The  bowstring  is 
A  more  appropriate  finish !     Thou  shalt  die ! 

Malek  Adhel.  And  death  were  welcome  at  another's  mandate! 
What,  what  have  I  to  live  for?     Be  it  so, 
If  that,  in  all  thy  armies,  can  be  found 
An  executing  hand. 

Saladin.  Oh,  doubt  it  not ! 
They're  eager  for  the  office.     Perfidy, 
So  black  as  thine,  effaces  from  their  minds 
All  memory  of  thy  former  excellence. 

Malek  Adhel.  Defer  not,  then,  their  wishes,     Saladin, 
If  e'er  this  form  was  joyful  to  thy  sight. 
This  voice  seemed  grateful  to  thine  ear,  accede 
To  my  last  i)rayer :  Oh,  lengthen  not  this  scene, 
To  which  the  agonies  of  death  were  pleasing  I 
Let  me  die  speedily ! 

Saladin.  This  very  hour ! 
[^Aside.']  For  oh !  the  more  I  look  upon  that  face, 
The  more  I  hear  the  accents  of  that  voice. 
The  monarch  softens,  and  the  judge  is  lost 
In  all  the  brother's  weakness ;  yet  such  guilt — 
Such  vile  ingratitude — it  calls  for  vengeance ; 
And  vengeance  it  shall  have  1     What  ho !  who  waits  there? 

lEnter  Attendant.'} 

Attendant.  Did  your  highness  call  ? 

Saladin.  Assemble  quickly 
My  forces  in  the  court.     Tell  them  they  come 
To  view  the  death  of  yonder  bosom  traitor. 
And  bid  them  mark,  that  he  who  will  not  spare 
Ills  brother  when  he  errs,  expects  obedience — 
Silent  obedience — from  his  followers.     [^Exit  Attendant."] 

Malek  Adhel.  Now,  Saladin, 
The  word  is  given ;  1  have  nothing  more 
To  fear  from  thee,  my  brother.     I  am  not 
About  to  crave  a  miserable  life. 
Without  thy  love,  thy  honor,  thy  esteem. 


SEVENTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  361 

Life  were  a  burden  to  me.     Think  not,  either, 
The  justness  of  thy  sentence  I  would  question, 
But  one  request  now  trembles  on  my  tongue — 
One  wish  still  clinging  round  the  heart,  which  soon 
Not  even  that  shall  torture — will  it,  then, 
Thinkest  thou,  thy  slumbers  render  quieter, 
Thy  waking  thoughts  more  pleasing,  to  reflect. 
That  when  thy  voice  had  doomed  a  brother's  death, 
The  last  request  which  e'er  was  his  to  utter 
Thy  harshness  made  him  carry  to  the  grave  ? 

Saladjh.  Speak,  then ;  but  ask  thyself  if  thou  hast  reason 
To  look  for  much  indulgence  here. 

Malek  Adhel.  I  have  not ; 
Yet  will  I  ask  for  it.     We  part  forever ; 
This  is  our  last  farewell ;  the  king  is  satisfied ; 
The  judge  has  spoke  the  irrevocable  sentence. 
None  sees,  none  hears,  save  that  Omniscient  Power, 
Which,  trust  me,  will  not  frown  to  look  upon 
Two  brothers  part  like  such.     When,  in  the  face 
Of  forces  once  my  own,  I'm  led  to  death. 
Then  be  thine  eye  unmoistened ;  let  thy  voice 
Then  speak  my  doom  untrembling ;  then, 
Unmoved,  behold  this  stiff  and  blackened  corse. 
But  now  I  ask — nay,  turn  not,  Saladin — 
I  ask  one  single  pressure  of  thy  hand  ; 
From  that  stern  eye  one  solitary  tear — 
Oh,  torturing  recollection ! — one  kind  word 

From  the  loved  tongue  which  once  breathed  naught  but  kindness. 
Still  silent  ?     Brother !  friend !  beloved  companion 
Of  all  my  youthful  sports  ! — are  they  forgotten  ? — 
Strike  me  with  deafness,  make  me  blind,  O  Heaven ! 
Let  me  not  see  this  unforgiving  man 
Smile  at  my  agonies !  nor  hear  that  voice 
Pronounce  my  doom,  which  would  not  say  one  word, 
One  little  word,  whose  cherished  memory 
Would  soothe  the  struggles  of  departing  life ! 
Yet,  yet  thou  wilt !     Oh,  turn  thee,  Saladin ! 
Look  on  my  face — thou  canst  not  spurn  me  then ; 
Look  on  the  once-loved  face  of  Malek  Adhel 
For  the  last  time,  and  call  him — 

Saladin.  [^Seizing  his  hand.']  Brother!  brother! 

Malek  Adhel.   [Breaking  aiuay.']  Now  call  thy  followers  ; 
Death  has  not  now 
A  single  pang  in  store.     Proceed !     I'm  ready. 

Saladin.  Oh,  art  thou  ready  to  forgive,  my  brother  ? 
To  pardon  him  who  found  one  single  error, 
One  little  failing,  'mid  a  splendid  throng 
Of  glorious  qualities — 

Malek  Adhel.  Oh,  stay  thee,  Saladin ! 
I  did  not  ask  for  life.     I  only  wished 
To  carry  thy  forgiveness  to  the  grave. 
No,  emperor,  the  loss  of  Cassarea 
Cries  loudly  for  the  blood  of  Malek  Adhel 
Thy  soldiers,  too,  demand  that  he  who  lost 

Q 


READER. 

What  cost  them  many  a  weary  hour  to  gain, 
Should  expiate  his  offenses  with  his  life. 
Lo !  even  now  they  crowd  to  view  my  death, 
Thy  just  impartiality.     I  go ! 
Pleased  by  my  fate  to  add  one  other  leaf 
To  thy  proud  wreath  of  glory.     [Going.} 

Saladin.  Thou  shalt  not.     [^Enter  Attendant.'] 

Attendant.  My  lord,  the  troops  assembled  by  your  order 
Tumultuous  throng  the  courts.     The  prince's  death 
Not  one  of  them  but  vows  he  will  not  suffer. 
The  mutes  have  fled ;  the  veiy  guards  rebel. 
Nor  think  I,  in  this  city's  spacious  round, 
Can  e'er  be  found  a  hand  to  do  the  office. 

Malek  Adhel.     Oh  faithful  friends !    [To  Attendant.}  ThmtshaW. 

Attendant.  Mine?    Never! 
The  other  first  shall  lop  it  from  the  body. 

Saladin.  They  teach  the  emperor  his  duty  well. 
Tell  them  he  thanks  them  for  it.     Tell  them,  too, 
That  ere  their  opposition  reached  our  ears, 
Saladin  had  forgiven  Malek  Adhel. 

Attendant.  Oh  joyful  news ! 
I  haste  to  gladden  many  a  gallant  heart. 
And  dry  the  tear  on  many  a  hardy  cheek, 
Unused  to  such  a  visitor.     [Exit.'] 

Saladin.  These  men,  the  meanest  in  society, 
The  outcasts  of  the  earth — by  war,  by  nature, 
Hardened,  and  rendered  callous — these  who  claim 
No  kindred  with  thee — who  have  never  heard 
The  accents  of  affection  from  thy  lips — 
Oh,  these  can  cast  aside  their  vowed  allegiance, 
Throw  off  their  long  obedience,  risk  their  lives. 
To  save  thee  from  destruction.     "While  I, 
I,  who  can  not,  in  all  my  memory. 
Call  back  one  danger  which  thou  hast  not  shared, 
One  day  of  grief,  one  night  of  revelry, 
Which  thy  resistless  kindness  hath  not  soothed, 
Or  thy  gay  smile  and  converse  rendered  sweeter — 
I,  who  have  thrice  in  the  ensanguined  field, 
When  death  seemed  certain,  only  uttered — "Brother!'' 
And  seen  that  form,  like  lightning,  rush  between 
Saladin  and  his  foes,  and  that  brave  breast 
Dauntless  exposed  to  many  a  furious  blow 
Intended  for  my  own — I  could  forget 
That  'twas  to  thee  I  owed  the  very  breath 
Which  sentenced  thee  to  perish !     Oh,  'tis  shameful  \ 
Thou  canst  not  pardon  me ! 

Malek  Adhel.  By  these  tears  I  can! 
Oil  brother !  from  tliis  very  hour  a  new, 
A  glorious  life  commences !     I  am  all  thine  I 
Again  the  day  of  gladness  or  of  anguish 
Shall  Malek  Adhel  share ;  and  oft  again 
May  this  sword  fence  thee  in  the  bloody  field. 
Henceforth,  Saladin, 
My  heart,  my  soul,  my  sword,  are  thine  forever ! — Nen-  ^fnnthh|  Maf/. 


SEVENTH  MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  363 


LESSON   III. — OUR   COUNTRY   AND   OUR   HOME, 

There  is  a  land,  of  every  land  the  pride ; 

Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside  ; 

Where  brighter  suns  dispense  serener  light, 

And  milder  moons  emparadise  the  night ; 

A  land  of  beauty,  virtue,  valor,  truth, 

Time-tutored  age,  and  love-exalted  youth. 

The  wandering  mariner,  whose  eye  explores 

The  wealthiest  isles,  the  most  enchanting  shores, 

Views  not  a  realm  so  beautiful  and  fair, 

Nor  breathes  the  spirit  of  a  purer  air ; 

In  every  clime,  the  magnet  of  his  soul. 

Touched  by  remembrance,  trembles  to  that  pole ; 

For  in  this  land  of  Heaven's  peculiar  grace. 

The  heritage  of  Nature's  noblest  race. 

There  is  a  spot  of  earth  supremely  bless'd, 

A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest, 

Where  man,  creation's  tyrant,  casts  aside 

His  sword  and  sceptre,  pageantry  and  pride. 

While  in  his  softened  looks  benignly  blend 

The  sire,  the  son,  the  husband,  father,  friend. 

Here  woman  reigns ;  the  mother,  daughter,  wife, 

Strew  with  fresh  flowers  the  narrow  way  of  life  ; 

In  the  clear  heaven  of  her  delightful  eye. 

An  angel-guard  of  loves  and  graces  lie ; 

Around  her  knees  domestic  duties  meet. 

And  fireside  pleasures  gambol  at  her  feet. 

Where  shall  that  /awe/— that  spot  of  earth  be  found*? 

Art  thou  a  man'? — a  patriot'  ? — look  around  ; 

Oh !  thou  shalt  find,  howe'er  thy  footsteps  roam. 

That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home. 

James  Montgomery. 


LESSON   IV. — THE   GIPSY  FORTUNE-TELLER. 

1.  "  Hark,  my  maiden,  and  I'll  tell  you. 

By  the  power  of  my  art. 
All  the  things  that  e'er  befell  you. 
And  the  secret  of  your  heart. 

2.  "  How  that  you  love  some  one — don't  you'  ? 

Love  him  better  than  you  say ; 
Won't  you  hear,  my  maiden,  won't  you'  ? 
What's  to  be  your  wedding-day'  ?" 

3.  "  Ah,  you  cheat,  with  words  of  honey. 

You  tell  stories,  that  you  know ! 
Where's  the  husband  for  my  money 
That  I  gave  you  long  ago^  ? 


364  willson's  fifth  eeadee. 

4.  "  Neither  silver,  gold,  nor  copper 
Shall  you  get  this  time  from  me ; 
Where's  the  husband,  tall  and  proper, 
That  you  told  me  I  should  see^  ?" 

6.   *'  Coming  still,  my  maiden,  coming. 
With  two  eyes  as  black  as  sloes ; 
Marching  soldierly,  and  humming 
Gallant  love-songs  as  he  goes." 

6.  ' '  Get  along,  you  stupid  gipsy ! 

I  won't  have  your  barrack-beau ; 
Strutting  up  io  me  half  tipsy. 
Saucy — with  his  chin  up — so !" 

7.  "  Come,  I'll  tell  you  the  first  letter 

Of  your  handsome  sailor* s  name — " 
**  I  know  every  one,  that's  better. 
Thank  you,  gipsy,  all  the  same." 

8.  "  Ha !  my  maiden,  runs  your  text  so'  ? 

Now  I  see  the  die  is  cast ; 
And  ^he  day  is — Monday  next."     "  No\ 
Gipsy',  it  was — Monday  last !" 


LESSON  V. — SUCCESS  alone  seen. 

Few  know  of  life's  beginnings — men  behold 
The  goal  achieved — the  warrior,  when  his  sword 
Flashes  red  triumph  in  the  noonday  sun ; 
The  poet,  when  his  lyre  hangs  on  the  palm ; 
The  statesman,  when  the  crowd  proclaim  his  voice, 
And  mould  opinion  on  his  gifted  tongue : 
They  count  not  life's  first  steps,  and  never  think 
Upon  the  many  miserable  hours 
When  hope  deferred  was  sickness  to  the  heart. 
They  reckon  not  the  battle  and  the  march, 
The  long  privations  of  a  wasted  youth ; 
They  never  see  the  banner  till  unfurl'd. 
What  are  to  them  the  solitary  nights 
Pass'd  pale  and  anxious  by  the  sickly  lamp, 
Till  the  young  poet  wins  the  world  at  last 
To  listen  to  the  music  long  his  own  ? 
The  crowd  attend  the  statesman's  fiery  mind 
That  makes  their  destiny ;  but  they  do  not  trace 
Its  struggle,  or  its  long  expectancy. 
Hard  arc  life's  early  steps ;  and,  but  that  youth 
Is  buoyant,  confident,  and  strong  in  hope. 
Men  would  behold  its  threshold,  and  despair. 

L/KTiTiA  E.  Maclean  (Landon)- 


1st  Div.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  365 

PART  VIII. 

FIRST  DIVISION  OP  PHYSICAL  GEOGRAPHY. 

[This  subject  is  continued  in  the  Sixth  Keader.] 


4'- 

LESSON    I. — GENERAL   DESCEIP- 
i  TION. 

1.  Geography  is  a  description  of  the  earth.  The  numer- 
ous subjects  embraced  in  a  complete  description  of  our  planet 
are  usually  arranged  under  the  three  great  divisions,  Mathe- 
matical^ Physical^  and  Political  Geography. 

Mathematical  Geography  has  for  its  object  the  determina- 
tion of  the  form  and  dimensions  of  the  earth,  its  relations 
with  the  celestial  bodies,  the  relative  positions  of  places  on 
its  surface,  and  the  representation  of  the  whole  or  a  part  of 
the  surface  on  maps  or  globes. 

2.  Physical  Geography  is  a  description  of  the  principal 
features  of  the  earth's  surface,  as  consisting  of  land  and  wa- 
ter, the  extent,  position,  and  form  of  continents  and  islands, 
the  elevation  and  direction  of  mountain  ranges,  the  phenom- 
ena of  volcanoes  and  earthquakes,  the  conformation  of  plains 
and  valleys,  and  the  soil,  climate,  and  productions  of  different 
regions.  The  currents  of  the  ocean  and  of  the  atniosphere, 
with  their  attendant  phenomena,  are  also  embraced  in  the  de- 
partment of  Physical  Geography. 

3.  Political  Geography  considers  the  earth  as  the  abode 
of  man,  and  describes  the  various  nations  in  their  local  rela- 
tions. This  division  of  the  science  is  what  is  usually  studied 
in  schools  as  Geography. 


366  WILLSOn's  fifth  reader.  Part  VIII. 

As  the  form  of  the  earth  is  spherical,  it  is  impossible  to 
represent  any  considerable  portion  of  its  surface  on  a  plane 
without  making  some  parts  appear  larger  than  they  are,  rela- 
tively to  others.  In  maps  commonly  used  in  schools,  the 
world  is  represented  in  two  circles,  called  the  eastern  and 
western  hemispheres. 

4.  The  surface  of  the  globe  comprises  nearly  two  hundred 
million  square  miles,  of  which  only  about  one  fourth  part  is 
land,  and  considerably  more  than  half  of  this  is  in  the  eastern 
hemisphere.  The  accompanying  chart  shows  about  three 
times  as  much  land  north  of  the  equator  as  south  of  it;  and 
it  will  also  be  observed  that  nearly  one  half  of  all  the  land 
is  in  the  northern  temperate  zone. 


Water  Ilemisphero.  Land  Hemisphere. 

5.  If  we  draw  a  map  with  London  for  the  centre  of  the 
circle  or  horizon,  which  is  nearly  that  of  the  land  hemisphere 
above  represented,  we  shall  include  more  land  than  if  any 
other  city  were  taken  as  a  centre,  and  consequently  in  the 
opposite  hemisphere  there  will  be  more  water.  In  other 
words,  there  is  more  land  witliin  6000  miles  of  London  than 
within  that  distance  of  any  other  city  on  the  globe.  It  is 
often  said  that  certain  cities  have  an  extensive  "  back  coun- 
try" on  which  they  depend  for  support,  and  it  is  an  interest- 
ing fact  that  London,  the  commercial  metropolis  of  the  world, 
has  a  greater  "back  country,"  within  the  distance  of  one 
fourth  the  earth's  circumference,  than  any  other  city  on  the 
globe. 

6.  Tliere  is  a  method  of  representing  the  earth's  surface 
called  Mercator's  2yroJection.  This  nicthod,  which  is  uni- 
versally adopted  for  nautical  charts,  and  has  many  advant- 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  867 

ages  for  physical  maps^  has  the  meridian  lines  straight,  equi- 
distant, and  parallel.  The  parallels  of  latitude  are  also 
straight  lines  perpendicular  to  the  meridians ;  but  their  dis- 
tances increase  from  the  equator  in  such  proportions  as  al- 
ways to  show-  the  true  bearings  of  places  from  one  another.* 
7.  In  using  Mercator's  chart,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
it  does  not  truly  represent  the  figure,  or  relative  magnitude 
of  countries,  especially  those  far  from  the  equator.  In  this 
kind  of  chart  the  surface  of  the  earth  is  represented  as  if  it 
were  the  convex  surface  of  a  cylinder,  spread  out  on  a  level 
or  plain,  and  the  western  continent  is  often  shown  on  the 
right  side  of  the  map. 


LESSON   II. — CONTINENTS   AND   ISLANDS. 

1.  There  are  three  great  masses  of  land  on  the  earth's  sur- 
face, which,  as  they  are  surrounded  by  water,  might  be  termed 
islands,  but  two  of  these  are  commonly  called  continents. 
These  three  great  divisions  are  the  Old  continent,  embracing 
Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa;  the  New  continent,  including  North 
and  South  America ;  and  the  island  of  Australia. 

2.  The  two  continents  dilFer  remarkably  in  their  general 
features.  In  the  Eastern  continent  the  general  direction  of 
the  land  and  of  the  great  chain  of  mountains  is  from  east  to 
west,  nearly  parallel  with  the  equator.  In  the  Western  con- 
tinent the  direction  of  the  land  is  from  north  to  south,  or 
perpendicular  to  the  equator.  The  Western  continent  is  not 
quite  half  as  large  as  the  Eastern,  but  it  has  about  five  times 
the  area  of  Australia. 

3.  Another  notable  feature  of  the  land  is,  that  all  the  great 
peninsulas  are  nearly  triangular  in  shape,  and  arfe  pointed 
toward  the  south.  Such  is  the  case  with  Africa,  South  Amer- 
ica, Arabia,  Hindostan,  Corea,  Kamtschatka,  California,  Green- 
land, and  Florida ;  a  circumstance  which  the  celebrated  geol- 
olgist.  Dr.  Buckland,  has  attributed  to  the  wearing  away  of 
the  land  by  the  waters  of  the  ocean,  which  he  supposes  to 
have  been  projected  northward  from  the  southern  hemisphere 
with  great  force  by  some  sudden  convulsion  of  the  globe. 
The  only  exceptions  to  this  generalization  are  Yucatan  and 
Jutland,  which  are  alluvial  formations,  and  owe  their  struc- 
ture to  influences  which  have  not  operated  in  shaping  the 
great  continental  masses. 

•  The  physical  chart  of  North  America,  on  page  378,  is  drawn  on  the  plan  of  Mercator's 
projectiov. 


368  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  VIII. 

4.  Each  continent  has  an  island  or  group  of  islands  a  little 
east  of  its  southern  extremity;  thus  South  America  has  its 
Falkland  Islands,  and  Africa  its  Madagascar.  So  also  Cey- 
lon is  similarly  situated  in  respect  to  Hindostan ;  Iceland  to 
Greenland ;  the  Bahamas  to  Florida ;  and  Tasmania  and  New 
Zealand  to  Australia. 

6.  It  has  been  observed,  as  another  peculiarity  of  the  struc- 
ture of  peninsulas,  that  they  generally  terminate  abruptly  in 
bluffs,  promontories,  or  mountains.  Thus,  at  the  southern 
extremity  of  Africa,  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  stands  out  as  a 
rocky  barrier,  where,  in  some  great  convulsion  of  the  globe, 
the  waters  of  the  ocean  were  stayed ;  the  high,  black,  and 
precipitous  promontory  of  Cape  Horn  is  the  visible  termina- 
tion of  the  Andes;  and  the  extremity  of  the  Ghauts  Mount- 
ains, in  Hindostan,  is  Cape  Comorin.  There  is  also  a  strik- 
ing analogy  between  the  unbroken  coast-line  of  South  Amer- 
ica and  Africa,  while  North  America  resembles  Europe  in  its 
coast  indentations  of  bays  and  gulfs. 

6.  It  is  important  that  a  commercial  city  should  have  am- 
ple wharf-room,  which  is  usually  increased  artificially,  as  far 
as  possible,  in  the  construction  of  slips,  piers,  and  wharves. 
A  similar  advantage  is  presented  in  the  indentation  of  a  coast 
by  seas,  gulfs,  and  bays.  In  this  respect  Europe  is  most  for- 
tunate, having  one  mile  of  sea-coast  for  every  156  square  miles 
of  surface,  while  less  favored  Africa  has  the  same  coast-line 
for  every  623  square  miles  of  territory.  Next  to  Europe, 
North  America  has  the  greatest  proportionate  extent  of 
coast,  being  one  mile  for  every  350  square  miles  of  surface. 
"  Africa," says  Prof.  Guyot,  "is  nearly  ellipsoidal,  and  concen- 
trated upon  itself.  It  thrusts  into  the  ocean  no  important 
peninsula,  nor  any  where  lets  into  its  bosom  the  waters  of 
the  sea.  It  seems  to  close  itself  against  every  influence  from 
without." 

7.  Though  the  countless  islands  scattered  over  the  globe 
appear  so  various  in  size,  form,  and  character,  they  have  been 
grouped  into  two  distinct  classes,  called  continental  and  ^)e- 
lagic.  Continental  islands  occur  along  the  margin  of  con- 
tinents, which  they  resemble  in  geological  situation,  and  are 
usually  long  in  proportion  to  their  breadth.  They  seem  to 
have  been  formed  at  the  same  time  as  the  continents,  and 
possibly  were  once  joined  to  the  main  land,  having  been  sepa- 
rated by  the  action  of  the  sea.  It  may  be  that  the  positions 
of  continental  islands  mark  the  former  boundaries  of  the  con- 
tinents.    YancDuvrrV  TsLuid,  on  the  western  coast  of  Amer- 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY. 


369 


ica,  and  the  islands  from  Chiloe  to  Cape  Horn,  also  the  West 
Indies,  England  and  Scotland,  Corsica  and  Sardinia,  and  Mad- 
agascar, are  good  examples  of  continental  islands. 

8.  Pelagic  islands  are  mostly  volcanic  or  coral  formations 
which  have  risen  from  the  bed  of  the  ocean,  far  from  land, 
and  independent  of  the  continents.  In  form  they  are  gener- 
ally round,  and  are  mostly  found  in  groups.  Single  pelagic 
islands,  like  St.  Helena,  are  rare.  Although  they  sometimes 
rise  thousands  of  feet  above  the  sea,  they  are  probably  the  tops 
:  of   mountains    whose   bases 

are  far  down  in  the  fathom- 
less retreats  of  the  ocean. 

9.  In  July,  1831,  a  new  vol- 
canic island  appeared  near 
Sicily,  in  the  Mediterranean 
Sea,  caused  by  the  bursting 
forth  of  a  volcano.  An  isl- 
and was  formed  there  with  a 
crater  in  its  centre.  This 
was  called  Graham  Island; 
and  although  it  rose  from  a 
part  of  the  sea  where  the 
water  was  100  fathoms  deep, 
and  continued  to  grow  till  it 
was  three  miles  in  circumfer- 
ence and  above  200  feet  high, 
it  afterward  gradually  dimin- 
ished in  size,  and  finally,  after 
a  few  weeks,  disappeared  beneath  the  waves. 


^  Formation  of  Graham  Island,  as  seen  from 
a  distance. 


LESSOK    III.— CORAL   ISLANDS    AND   REEFS. 

1.  Deep  in  thawave  ia  a  coral  grove, 
Where  the  purple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove, 
Where  the  fca-flower  spreads  its  leaves  of  blue, 
That  never  are  wet  with  falling  dew, 

But  in  bright  and  changeful  beauty  shine. 

Far  down  in  the  green  and  glassy  brine.— Peeoival. 

2.  The  "  great  and  wide  sea,  wherein  are  things  creeping 
innumerable,  both  small  and  great  beasts,"  contains  countless 
multitudes  of  living  beings  scarcely  larger  than  a  pin's  head, 
which  are  constantly  engaged  in  taking  from  the  sea-water 
the  lime  it  holds  in  solution,  and,  in  the  form  of  "  coral  groves," 
building  up  islands  and  reefs,  some  of  which  are  a  thousand 
miles  in  extent.     Prof.  Dana  calculates  that  there  are  in  the 

Q2 


370  willson's  fifth  reader.  PabtVIII. 

South  Sea  nearly  300  coral  islands,  the  work  of  these  "jelly- 
like specks." 

3.  There  are  four  different  kinds  of  coral  formations  in  the 
Pacific  and  Indian  Oceans,  called  lagoon  islands  or  atolls^ 
encircling  reefs^  barrier  reefs^  and  coral  fringes.  They  are 
nearly  all  confined  to  tropical  regions ;  the  atolls  to  the  Pa- 
cific and  Indian  Oceans  alone.    Atolls,  of  which  the  annexed 


An  atoll  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  covered  wiili  vegetation. 

out  is  a  fair  representation,  consist  of  a  circular  ring:  of  coral 
surrounding  a  shallow  lake  or  lagoon  of  water.  Encircling 
reefs  surround  mountainous  islands  at  some  distance  from  the 
shore.  Barrier  reefs  are  similar,  but  differ  in  their  position 
in  respect  to  the  land.  The  largest  barrier  reef  is  the  Austrar 
lian,  which  extends  more  than  1000  miles. 

4.  On  these  bare  reefs  of  coral  the  storms  and  waves  of  the 
ocean  gradually  deposit  mud,  sand,  and  sea-weed,  until  at 
length  a  kind  of  soil  is  formed.  Seeds  from  the  neighboring 
or  distant  lands  are  driven  to  the  desolate  isle,  and,  finding  a 
soil  suited  to  them,  germinate  and  grow,  until  finally  the  ocean 
rock  is  covered  with  verdure.  The  mariner  has  visited  the 
"  sea-snatched  isle,"  and 

"Wandered  where  the  dreamy  palm 
Miinmired  above  the  sleeping  wave: 
And  through  the  waters  clear  and  calm 
Ixjoked  down  into  the  coral  cave. 
Whose  echoes  never  had  been  st  irred 
By  breath  of  man  or  song  of  bird." 

6.  The  whole  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  is  crowded  with  islands 
of  the  same  architecture,  the  produce  of  the  same  insignificant 
architects.  An  animal  barely  possessing  life,  scarcely  appear- 
ing to  possess  volition,  tied  down  to  its  narrow  cell,  ephem- 
eral in  existence,  is  daily,  hourly  creating  the  habitations  of 


IstDlV.  OF PHYSICAL    GEOGRAPHY.  371 

men,  of  animals,  of  plants.  In  the  vast  Pacific  it  is  founding 
a  new  continent ;  it  is  constructing  a  new  world.  This  proc- 
ess is  equally  visible  in  the  Red  Sea,  which  is  daily  becom- 
ing less  and  less  navigable,  in  consequence  of  the  growth  of 
its  coral  rocks ;  and  the  day  is  to  come  when  perhaps  one 
plain  will  unite  the  opposed  shores  of  Egypt  and  Arabia. 

6.  These  are  among  the  wonders  of  His  mighty  hand :  such 
are  among  the  means  which  He  uses  to  forward  His  ends  of 
benevolence.  Yet  man,  vain  man,  pretends  to  look  down  on 
the  myriads  of  beings  equally  insignificant  in  appearance,  be- 
cause he  has  not  yet  discovered  the  great  offices  which  they 
hold,  the  duties  which  they  fulfill  in  the  great  order  of  na- 
ture. 


LESSON    IV. THE   CORAL   INSECT.* 

[The  representations  here  given  are  the  united  stony  cells  or  habitations  of  the  coral- 
building  zoophytes,  each  species  having  its  own  peculiar  structure.  Every  minute  por- 
tion of  this  calcareous  or  lime  rock  is  more  or  le^^s  surrounded  by  a  soft  animal  substance 
(the  zoophyte),  capable  of  expanding  itself,  but  otherwise  fixed  to  its  habitation ;  yet,  wlien 
alarmed,  it  has  the  power  of  contracting  itf=elf  almost  entirely  into  the  cells  and  hollows 
of  the  hard  coral.  These  soft  pai'ts  become,  when  taken  from  the  sea,  nothing  more  in 
appearance  tlian  a  brown  slime  spread  over  the  stony  nucleus.  Yet  these  jelly-like  ani- 
mals are  the  builders  of  the  coral  reefs.  See  Seventh  Reader  for  a  description  of  this  class 
of  animals] 


Common  coeal-building  Zoophytes.— 1.  Meandrina  labirrintMca.  2.  Astrea  dipsacea. 
B.  Madrepora  muricata.  4.  Pontes  clamria.  5.  Caryophyllia  fastigiata.  6.  Oculina 
hirtella. 

1 .  Toil  on !  toil  on !  ye  ephemeral  train, 

Who  build  in  the  tossing  and  treacherous  main ; 

Toil  on— for  the  wisdom  of  man  ye  mock, 

With  your  sand-based  structures  and  domes  of  rock ; 

Your  columns  the  fathomless  fountains  lave, 

And  your  arches  spring  up  to  the  crested  wave ; 

Ye' re  a  puny  race  thus  to  boldly  rear 

A  fabric  so  vast  in  a  realm  so  drear. 

2.  Ye  bind  the  deep  with  your  secret  zone, 
The  ocean  is  sealed,  and  the  surge  a  stone ; 
Fresh  ^vreaths  from  the  coral  pavement  spring, 
Like  the  terraced  pride  of  Assyria's  king ; 


•  The  little  coral-building  animal,  or  polyp^  was  long  ago  called  the  coral  insect^  a  terra 
quite  improper,  but  one  that  is  still  retained  in  popular  use. 


8V2 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   READER. 


Part  VIII. 


The  tnrf  looks  green  where  the  breakers  rolled ; 
O'er  the  whirlpool  ripens  the  nnd  of  gold  ; 
The  sea-snatched  isle  is  the  home  of  men, 
And  mountains  exult  where  the  wave  hath  been. 

3.  But  why  do  ye  plant  'neath  the  billows  dark 
The  wrecking  reef  for  the  gallant  bark? 
There  are  snares  enough  on  the  tented  field, 
'Mid  the  blossomed  sweets  that  the  valleys  yield  ; 
There  are  serpents  to  coil  ere  the  flowers  are  up ; 
There's  a  poison-drop  in  man's  purest  cup ; 
There  are  foes  that  watch  for  his  cradle  breath, 
And  why  need  ye  sow  the  floods  with  death  ? 

4.  With  mouldering  bones  the  deeps  are  white. 
From  the  ice-clad  pole  to  the  tropics  bright ; 
The  mermaid  hath  twisted  her  fingers  cold 
With  the  mesh  of  the  sea-boy's  curls  of  gold, 
And  the  gods  of  ocean  have  frowned  to  see 
Tlie  mariner's  bed  in  their  halls  of  glee ; 
Hath  earth  no  graves,  that  ye  thus  must  spread 
The  boundless  sea  for  the  thronging  dead? 

5.  Ye  build — ye  build — but  ye  enter  not  in, 

Like  the  tribes  whom  the  desert  devoured  in  their  sin  ; 

From  the  land  of  promise  ye  fade  and  die, 

Ere  its  verdure  gleams  forth  on  your  weary  eye; 

As  the  kings  of  the  cloud-crowned  pyramid. 

Their  noteless  bones  in  oblivion  hid, 

Ye  slumber  unmarked  'mid  the  desolate  main, 

While  the  wonder  and  pride  of  your  works  remain. 

Mb8.  SiGOURNEl. 


LESSON   v.— MOUNTAINS. 


Coluouiar.  SerraUd.  Peaked. 

FORMS  OF  MOITNTAINB. 


Volcanle. 


DooM^liaptd. 


Tnor,  who  woald>t  pee  the  lovely  and  the  wild 
Alingled  in  harmony,  on  Nature's  face, 
Aiceqd  our  r<x;ky  monntRin«.     T,et  thy  foot 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  373 

Fail  not  with  weariness ;  for  on  their  tops 

The  beauty  and  the  majesty  of  earth, 

Spread  wide  beneath,  shall  make  thee  to  forget 

The  steep  and  toilsome  way.     There,  as  thou  stand's*, 

The  haunts  of  men  below  thee,  and  above, 

The  mountain  summits,  thy  expanding  heart 

Shall  feel  a  kindred  with  that  loftier  world 

To  which  thou  art  translated,  and  partake 

The  enlargement  of  tliy  vision.     Thou  shalt  look 

Upon  the  green  and  rolling  forest  tops, 

And  down  into  the  secrets  of  the  glens 

And  streams,  that,  with  their  bordering  thickets,  strive 

To  hide  their  windings.     Thou  shalt  gaze  at  once, 

Here  on  white  villages,  and  tilth,  and  herds. 

And  swarming  roads  ;  and  there,  on  solitudes 

That  only  hear  the  torrent,  and  the  wind, 

And  eagle's  shriek. — Beyakt. 

2.  "  There  is  a  charm,"  says  Howitt,  "  connected  with 
mountains,  so  powerful  that  the  merest  mention  of  them,  the 
merest  sketch  of  their  magnificent  features,  kindles  the  im- 
agination, and  carries  the  spirit  at  once  into  the  bosom  of 
their  enchanted  regions.  Plow  the  mind  is  filled  with  their 
vast  solitude^ !  how  the  inward  eye  is  fixed  on  their  silent, 
their  sublime,  their  everlasting  peaks^ !  How  our  heart 
bounds  to  the  music  of  their  solitary  cries,  to  the  tinkle  of 
their  gushing  rills,  to  the  sound  of  their  cataracts ! 

3.  "  When  we  let  loose  the  imagination,  and  give  it  free 
charter  to  range  through  the  glorious  ridges  of  continental 
mountains,  through  Alps,  Apennines,  or  Andes,  how  is  it  pos- 
sessed and  absorbed  by  all  the  awful  magnificence  of  their 
scenery  and  character^  by  the  sky-ward  and  inaccessible 
pinnacles,  the 

"  Palaces  where  nature  thrones 
Sublimity  in  icy  lialls^  I 

the  dark  Alpine  forests^ ;  the  savage  rocks  and  precipices^ ; 
the  fearful  and  unfathomable  chasms  filled  with  the  sound  of 
ever-precipitating  waters^ ;  the  cloud,  the  silence,  the  ava- 
lanche, the  cavernous  gloom,  the  terrible  visitations  of  heav- 
en's concentrated  lightning,  darkness,  and  thunder^ ;  or  the 
sweeter  features  of  living,  rushing  streams,  spicy  odors  of 
flower  and  shrub,  fresh  spirit-elating  breezes  sounding  through 
the  dark  pine  grove^ ;  the  ever-varying  lights  and  shadows, 
and  aerial  hues^ ;  the  wide  prospects^  and,  above  all,  the  sim- 
ple inhabitants^ !" 

4.  But  beyond  their  moral  grandeur  and  their  charms  of 
scenery,  mountains  subserve  some  very  important  purposes  in 
the  great  economy  of  nature.  Their  influence  upon  the  tem- 
perature and  fertility  of  vast  regions,  and  upon  the  formation 
and  direction  of  clouds  and  air-currents,  will  be  noticed  in 
the  lessons  on  the  atmosphere.     They  are  also  the  most  com- 


374  willson's  fifth  READEE.  Part  VIII. 

mon  boundaries  of  nations.  Frequently  the  language  spoken 
by  the  dwellers  on  one  side  of  a  mountain  is  unintelligible  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  other  slope.  And  not  only  the  lan- 
guage, but  the  moral,  social,  and  political  condition  of  man  is 
influenced  by  the  bold  and  picturesque  scenery  of  mountain 
peaks, 

**  That  wear  their  caps  of  snow 
In  very  presence  of  the  regal  sun." 

6.  Mountains  on  land,  like  mountains  in  the  sea  whose  tops 
we  call  islands  when  they  appear  above  the  water,  are  sel- 
dom found  detached  or  insulated.  Sometimes,  though  rare- 
ly, they  exist  in  aggregated  groups,  extending  from  a  com- 
mon centre  and  not  externally  connected;  but  most  com- 
monly they  are  in  ranges  or  mountain  chains,  traversing 
extensive  regions. 

6.  The  great  mountain  ranges  generally  follow  the  direc- 
tion of  the  continents,  and  it  is  to  this  circumstance  that  all 
large  countries  owe  their  peculiarities  of  climate  and  produc- 
tions. "  Suppose,"  said  Guyot,  *'  the  Andes,  transferred  to 
the  eastern  coast  of  South  America,  hindered  the  trade-winds 
from  bearing  the  vapors  of  the  ocean  into  the  interior  of  the 
continent,  the  plains  of  the  Amazon  and  of  Paraguay  would 
be  nothing  but  a  desert." 

7.  When  mountain  chains  occur  near  cpasts,  it  has  been 
observed  that  their  slope  is  steeper  toward  the  ocean  than 
toward  the  interior.  It  has  also  been  remarked  that  the 
mountains  of  the  Eastern  continent  have  their  long  slopes  to- 
ward the  north,  and  the  steep  or  short  slopes  toward  the 
south.  In  the  Western  continent  the  long  slopes  are  toward 
the  east,  and  the  short  slopes  toward  the  west.  The  highest 
peak  in  the  world,  as  far  as  ascertained,  is  Mount  Everest, 
one  of  the  Himalayas,  which  is  29,000  feet  in  altitude.  Chim- 
borazo,  the  most  elevated  point  ever  reached  by  man,  is 
19,700  feet  in  height.  Mount  St.Elias,  which  is  17,860  feet 
in  height,  is  the  highest  point  in  North  America. 

8.  The  Alj)s,  famous  m  the  records  of  military  achieve- 
ments as  having  been  crossed  by  the  armies  of  Hannibal  and 
Napoleon,  and  pre-eminent  for  the  picturesque  grandeur  of 
their  scenery,  are  the  most  celebrated  of  all  mountain  eleva- 
tions, and  the  highest  in  Europe.  Mount  Blanc,  the  loftiest 
peak,  is  an  enormous  mass  of  granite,  reaching  the  height  of 
15,750  feet,  the  avsccnt  to  which  is  rendered  exceedingly  dif- 
ficult by  the  surrounding  walls  of  ice,  fearful  precipices,  and 
the  everlasting  snows  by  whioh  it  is  covered ;    yot  it«  sum- 


IStDlV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  375 

mit  has  often  been  reached  by  adventurous  tourists  and  men 
of  science.  The  thoughts  very  naturally  suggested  to  a  con- 
templative mind  by  a  view  of  these  "proud  monuments  of 
God"  are  very  happily  expressed  in  the  following  lines : 

THE  ALPS.— Willis  Gatlord  Clakk. 

9.  Proud  monuments  of  God !  sublime  ye  stand 
Among  the  wonders  of  his  mighty  hand : 
With  summits  soaring  in  the  upper  sky, 

Wliere  the  broad  day  looks  down  with  burning  eye ; 
Where  gorgeous  clouds  in  solemn  pomp  repose, 
Flinging  rich  shadows  on  eternal  snows : 
Piles  of  triumphant  dust,  ye  stand  alone, 
And  hold,  in  kingly  state,  a  peerless  throne ! 

10.  Like  olden  conquerors,  on  high  ye  rear 
The  regal  ensign  and  the  glittering  spear : 
Round  icy  spires  the  mists,  in  wreaths  unrolled, 
Float  ever  near,  in  pui-ple  or  in  gold ; 

And  voiceful  torrents,  sternly  roUingHhere, 
Fill  with  wild  music  the  unpillared  air : 
What  garden,  or  what  hall  on  earth  beneath. 
Thrills  to  such  tones  as  o'er  the  mountains  breathe  ? 
IL  There,  through  long  ages  past,  those  summits  shone 

When  morning  radiance  on  their  state  was  thrown ; 
There,  when  the  summer  day's  career  was  done, 
Played  the  last  glorj'  of  the  sinking  sun; 
There,  sprinkling  lustre  o'er  the  cataract's  shade. 
The  chastened  ^on  her  glittering  rainbow  made ; 
And,  blent  witBlJlctured  stars,  her  lustre  lay. 
Where  to  still  vales  the  free  streams  leaped  away. 

12.  Where  are  the  thronging  hosts  of  other  days. 
Whose  banners  floated  o'er  the  Alpine  ways; 
Who,  through  their  high  defiles,  to  battle  wound, 
While  deadly  ordnance  stirred  the  heights  around  ? 
Gone ;  like  the  dream  that  melts  at  early  morn. 
When  the  lark's  anthem  through  the  sky  is  borne: 
Gone;  like  the  wrecks  that  sink  in  ocean's  spray, 
And  chill  Oblivion  murmurs.  Where  are  they  ? 

13.  Yet  "  Alps  on  Alps"  still  rise ;  the  lofty  home 
Of  storms  and  eagles,  where  their  pinions  roam  ; 
still  round  their  peaks  the  magic  colors  lie, 

Of  morn  and  eve,  imprinted  on  the  sky ; 

And  still,  while  kings  and  thrones  shall  fade  and  fall. 

And  empty  crowns  lie  dim  upon  tlie  pall — 

Still  shall  their  glaciers  flash  ;  their  torrents  roar; 

Till  kingdoms  fail,  and  nations  rise  no  more. 

14.  Great  as  the  elevations  of  mountains  seem  to  us,  they 
are  small  compared  with  the  globe  itself.  A  grain  of  sand 
on  a  twelve-inch  globe  Avould  represent  a  mountain  relatively 
much  higher  than  the  loftiest  of  the  Himalayas.  And  so 
small  a  portion  of  the  globe  is  the  sum  of  all  the  mountains, 
that  its  diameter  would  be  but  slightly  increased  if  they  were 
leveled  to  their  bases,  and  spread  over  its  surface. 

15.  Yet,  comparatively  slight  as  these  elevations  are,  show- 
ing the  narrow  range,  in  point  of  elevation  from  the  sea-level, 
to  which  man  is  confined,  they  furnish  him  by  far  the  best  op- 
portunities which  he  has  for  observing  the  phenomena  of  na- 


376  WILLSON's  fifth   reader.  Part  VIII. 

tiire ;  and  of  all  mountains,  those  of  the  torrid  zone  are  the 
best  adapted  for  this  purpose.  The  celebrated  traveler  and 
naturalist,  Humboldt,  has  the  following  remarks  on  this  sub- 
ject: 

16.  "Among  the  colossal  mountains  of  Quito  and  Peru,  farrowed  by 
deep  ravines,  man  is  enabled  to  contemplate  alike  all  the  families  of  plants, 
and  all  the  stars  of  the  firmament.  There,  at  a  single  glance,  the  eye  sur- 
veys majestic  palms,  humid  forests  of  bambusa,  and  the  varied  sj)ecies  of 
musacea; ;  while  above  these  forms  of  tropical  vegetation  appear  oaks,  med- 
lars, the  sweet-brier,  and  umbelliferous  plants,  as  in  our  European  homes. 
There,  as  the  traveler  turns  his  eyes  to  the  vault  of  heaven,  a  single  glance 
embraces  the  constellation  of  the  Southern  Cross,  the  Magellanic  clouds,  and 
the  guiding  stars  of  the  constellation  of  the  Bear,  as  they  circle  round  the 
arctic  pole.  There  the  depths  of  the  earth  and  the  vaults  of  heaven  display 
all  the  richness  of  their  forms  and  the  variety  of  their  phenomena.  There 
the  different  climates  are  j|p,nged  the  one  above  the  other,  stage  by  stage, 
like  the  vegetable  zones,  whose  succession  they  limit;  and  there' the  ob- 
server may  readily  trace  the  laws  that  regulate  the  diminution  of  heat,  as 
they  stand  indelibly  inscribed  on  the  rocky  walls  and  abrupt  declivities  of 
the  Cordilleras. " 

17.  Let  these  remarks  suggest  to  the  reader  how  much  of 
interest  the  various  aspects  of  nature  present  to  the  obsenant. 
eye  of  the  philosopher,  and  how  Mpch  a  knowledge  of  the 
laws  of  nature  is  calculated  to  contribute  to  our  intellectual 
pleasures. 


LESSON   VI. — TABLE-LANDS,  PLAINS,  AN^D  VALLEYS. 

1.  The  earth's  surface  exhibits  great  variety  in  aspect, 
forming  mountains,  hills,  table-lands,  plains,  and  valleys.  The 
most  general  of  these  features  are  what  geographers  term 
table-lands  or  plateaus^  and  lotcla?ids  or  plai?is. 

2.  In  considering  the  climate,  and,  consequently,  the  prod- 
ucts of  a  country,  it  is  necessary  to  observe  its  altitude  above 
the  ocean  level,  as  well  as  its  distance  from  the  equator.  A 
difference  of  350  feet  vertically  is  equal  to  a  difference  of  60 
miles  horizontally  in  a  direction  north  and  south.  The  mean 
temperature  of  a  place  at  an  elevation  of  350  feet  corresponds 
to  the  mean  temperature  of  a  location  60  miles  farther  north 
and  on  the  sea-level.  In  tro])ical  regions  the  elevated  table- 
lands have  frequently  a  rich  soil  and  the  most  genial  cUmate, 
affording  to  man  a  delightful  and  picturesque  abode. 

3.  Unquestionably  the  most  extensive  plateau  in  the  world 
is  the  lofty  table-land  of  Central  Asia,  which  is  from  five 
thousand  to  fifteen  thousand  feet  high.     Bounded  and  inter- 


IstDlV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  377 

sected  by  lofty  mountain  ranges,  having  the  great  Altaian 
chain  on  the  north,  and  the  Himalayas  and  Mountains  of  Chi- 
na on  the  south  and  east,  it  is  without  a  single  opening  to 
the  sea,  and  its  water  system  consists  of  lakes  without  outlets, 
the  final  recij^ients  of  many  rivers.  The  largest  of  these  in- 
land lakes  or  seas  are  the  Caspian  and  the  Aral,  in  both  of 
which  the  waters  are  salt,  though  less  so  than  those  of  the 
ocean. 

4.  While  the  Eastern  continent  is  remarkable  for  its  table- 
lands, ours  is  the  land  of  plains,  which  form  two  thirds  of  the 
surface  of  the  Western  world.  South  America,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  long,  narrow  table-land  of  the  Andes,  may  be 
considered  one  vast  plain,  divided  into  three  principal  por- 
tions— the  llanos^  or  low  grassy  plains  of  the  Orinoco  and  its 
tributaries ;  the  selvas,  or'  forest  plains,  which  make  the  great 
basin  of  the  Amazon;  and  the  pampas,  or  level  plains  of  the 
La  Plata.  In  tlie  wet  season  the  grassy  plains  of  South 
America  are  covered  with  the  most  luxuriant  vegetation,  but 
in  the  dry  months  they  present  the  appearance  of  a  wide 
waste  of  desolation. 

5.  North  America  has  its  plateau,  which  extends  along  the 
eastern  side  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  includes  the  table- 
lands of  Utah  and  Mexico ;  but  the  most  remarkable  feature 
in  its  physical  conformation  is  its  vast  central  plain,  the  lar- 
gest, not  of  America  only,  but  of  the  world.  It  embraces  the 
basin  of  the  Mississippi  and  its  tributaries,  together  with  the 
basins  of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  the  great  lakes,  and,  stretch- 
ing away  far  to  the  north,  it  approaches  the  borders  of  the 
Frozen  Sea.  Nearly  all  of  its  northern  portion,  north  of  the 
fiftieth  degree  of  latitude,  is  a  bleak  and  barren  waste,  occu- 
pied by  numerous  lakes,  and  bearing  a  striking  resemblance 
to  northern  Asia ;  but  its  more  southern  portion,  "the  Valley 
of  the  Mississippi,"  not  only  enjoys  a  happy  climate,  but  is 
one  of -the  most  fertile  regions  in  the  world,  capable  of  sus- 
taining an  immense  population,  and  doubtless  destined  to  be 
the  seat  of  a  vast  empire.  "  Who  does  not  see,"  says  Guyot, 
"that  here  is  the  character  of  America — that  here  lies  the  fu- 
ture of  the  New  World ;  while  the  countries  of  mountains 
and  plateaus  seem  destined  to  play  only  a  secondary  part  ?" 

6.  The  accomjDanying  chart  of  a  large  portion  of  North 
America  will  give  a  very  correct  idea  of  the  physical  config- 
uration of  the  country,  showing  the  comparative  elevations 
of  its  different  parts  above  the  ocean  level.  Yet  the  eleva- 
tions on  this  chart  are  120  times  enlarged  beyond  their  true 


3V8 


willson's  fifth  beadeb. 


Part  VIII. 


relative  height  as  compared  with  the  scale  on  which  the  map 
itself  is  drawn,  showing  that  the  loftiest  mountains  are  quite 
insignificant  when  we  compare  them  with  the  size  of  the  great 
globe  itself. 

7.  Portions  of  the  great  !N"orth  American  plain,  in  the  val- 
leys of  the  Missouri  and  Mississippi,  and  also  in  Texas,  are 
called  prairies^  a  word  signifying  meadows.     These  natural 


1st  DiV.  OP PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY. 


379 


meadow-lands,  covered  chiefly  with  grass,  and  presenting,  in 
the  summer  season,  the  grandest  display  of  floral  vegetation 
w^hich  the  sun  looks  down  upon,  are  grouped  in  three  divis- 
ions, as  bushy  prairies,  icet  or  swampy  prairies,  and  rolling 
prairies.  It  is  the  latter,  more  particularly,  which  are  de- 
scribed in  the  following  lesson  as  the  "  gardens  of  the  desert" 
— "island  groves  hedged  round  with  forests." 


LESSO]^   VII.— THE   PEAIEIES. 


These  are  the  gardens  of  the  desert,  these 

The  unshorn  fields,  boundless  and  beautiful, 

For  which  the  speech  of  England  has  no  name — 

The  prairies.     I  behold  them  for  the  first, 

And  my  heart  swells,  while  the  dilated  sight 

Takes  in  the  encircling  vastness.     Lo!  they  stretch 

In  airy  undulations  far  away. 

As  if  the  ocean,  in  his  gentlest  swell, 

Stood  still,  with  all  his  rounded  billows  fixed, 

And  motionless  forever.     Motionless  ? 

No — they  are  all  unchained  again.     The  clouds 

Sweep  over  with  their  shadows,  and,  beneath, 

The  surface  rolls  and  fluctuates  to  the  eye ; 

Dark  hollows  seem  to  glide  along  and  chase 

The  sunny  ridges.     Breezes  of  the  south ! 

Who  toss  the  golden  and  the  flame-like  flowers, 

And  pass  the  prairie-hawk  that,  poised  on  high, 

Flaps  his  broad  wings,  yet  moves  not — ye  have  played 

Among  the  palms  of  Mexico  and  vines 

Of  Texas,  and  have  crisped  the  limpid  brooks 

That  from  the  fountains  of  Sonora  glide 

Into  the  calm  Pacific — have  ye  fanned 

A  nobler  or  a  lovelier  scene  than  this  ? 

Man  hath  no  part  in  all  this  glorious  work : 

The  hand  that  built  the  firmament  hath  heaved 

And  smoothed  these  verdant  swells,  and  sown  their  slopes 

With  herbage,  planted  them  with  island  gi*oves. 

And  hedged  them  round  with  forests.     Fitting  floor 

For  this  magnificent  temple  of  the  sky — 

With  flowers  whose  glory  and  whose  multitude 


380  willson's  fifth  beadee.  Paht  VIII. 

Rival  the  constellations !     The  preat  heavens 

Seem  to  stoop  down  upon  the  scene  in  love — 

A  nearer  vault,  and  of  a  tenderer  blue, 

Than  that  which  bends  above  the  eastern  hills. 

As  o'er  the  verdant  waste  I  glide  my  steed. 

Among  the  high,  rank  grass  that  sweeps  his  sides, 

The  lioUow  beating  of  his  footstep  seems 

A  sacrilegious  sound.     I  think  of  those 

Upon  whose  rest  he  tramples.     Are  they  here — 

The  dead  of  other  days  ? — and  did  the  dust 

Of  these  fair  solitudes  once  stir  with  life 

And  bum  with  passion  ?    Let  the  mighty  mounds 

That  overlook  the  rivers,  or  that  rise 

In  the  dim  forest,  crowded  with  old  oaks, 

Answer,     A  race  that  long  has  passed  away 

Built  them  ;  a  disciplined  and  populous  race 

Heaped,  with  long  toil,  the  earth,  while  yet  the  Greek 

Was  hewing  the  Pentelicus  to  forms 

Of  symmetry',  and  rearing  on  its  rock 

The  glitteiing  Parthenon.     These  ample  fields 

Nourished  tlieir  harvests ;  here  their  herds  were  fed, 

When  haply  by  their  stalls  the  bison  lowed, 

And  bowed  liis  maned  shoulder  to  the  yoke. 

All  day  tliis  desert  murmured  with  their  toils. 

Till  twilight  blushed,  and  lovers  walked  and  wooed 

In  a  forgotten  language,  and  old  tunes. 

From  instniments  of  unremembered  form, 

Gave  the  soft  winds  a  voice. — Bktakt. 


LESSON  VIII. CAVES  AND  GROTTOES    OF  THE    OLD  WORLD. 

1.  Natural  caves,  which  are  hollow  places  under  ground, 
generally  witti  openings  on  the  surface,  form  a  division  of 
physical  geography  interesting  alike  to  the  man  of  science 
and  the  mere  wonder-loving  tourist.  Nearly  all  the  great 
caves  in  the  world  are  in  limestone  rocks,  and  have  been  pro- 
duced by  the  action  of  water,  which,  running  in  little  streams 
through  the  strata  and  dissolving  particles  of  rock,*  lias,  in 
the  course  of  ages,  formed  subterranean  passages,  often  of 
great  extent  and  wonderful  beauty.  Caves  found  in  rocks 
of  granite,  lava,  and  porphyry,  owe  their  origin  to  other 
causes. 

2.  It  is  not  surprising  that  the  priests  of  antiquity,  for  the 
purpose  of  producing  an  effect  on  the  minds  of  the  ignorant 
populace,  localized  their  false  divinities  in  caverns,  which  were 
so  well  calculated  to  awaken  curiosity  and  excite  the  imagi- 
nation.   Thus  the  original  Delphian  oracles,  reverenced  by 

•  Tho  water  carrioa  with  it  carbonic  add  fcas,  by  which  limestone  ia  rendered  soliible. 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGEAPHY. 


381 


the  Greeks,  and  consulted  by  the  monarchs  of  the  ancient 
world,  Avere  deliv©red  by  a  priestess  seated  at  the  mouth  of 
a  cave,  who  pretended  to  be  inspired  with  a  knowledge  of 
future  events.  The  primitive  inhabitants  of  Northern  Eu- 
rope selected  caves  as  appropriate  places  for  their  barbarous 
rites.  Among  these  is  the  cave  of  Thor,  "The  Thunderer," 
in  the  limestone  district  of  Derbyshire,  England,  described 
by  Darwin  as 

"■The  blood-smeared  mansion  of  gigantic  Thor." 

3.  Of  the  celebrated  caverns  of  the  Eastern  world,  the  most 
famous  is  that  called  "The  Grotto  of  Antiparos,"^  a  magnifi- 
cent stalactite^  cavern  in  a  little  island  of  the  same  name  in 
the  Grecian  Archipelago.  Within  its  vaulted  chambers  are 
columns,  some  of  which  are  twenty-five  feet  in  length,  hang- 
ing like  icicles  from  the  roof,  while  others  extend  from  roof 
to  floor.  The  following  extract  from  the  description  given 
by  Goldsmith,  taken  from  the  writings  of  an  Italian  traveler, 
will  convey  some  idea  of  the  scene  presented  in  one  of  the 
interior  chambers  of  this  "  enchanted  grotto :" 


The  Grotto  of  Antiparos. 

4.   "Our  candles  being  now  all  lighted  up,  and  the  whole  place  com- 
pletely illuminated,  never  could  the  eye  be  presented  with  a  more  glitter- 


382 


willson's  fifth  ekadeb. 


pabt  vin. 


ing  or  a  more  magnificent  scene.  The  whole  roof  hung  with  8oli4  icicles, 
transparent  as  glass,  yet  solid  as  marble.  The  eye  could  scarcely  reach  the 
lofty  and  noble  ceiling ;  the  sides  were  regularly  formed  with  spars,  and 
the  whole  presented  the  idea  of  a  magnificent  theatre  illuminated  with  an 
immense  profusion  of  lights.  The  floor  consisted  of  solid  marble ;  and  in 
several  places  magnificent  columns,  thrones,  altars,  and  other  objects  ap- 
peared, as  if  nature  had  designed  to  mock  the  curiosities  of  art.  Our 
voices,  upon  speaking  or  singing,  were  redoubled  to  an  astonishing  loud- 
ness, and  upon  the  firing  of  a  gun,  the  noise  and  reverberations  were  al- 
most deafening." 

6.  But  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  of  all  t];ie  cavern-like 

formations  in  Europe  is  that 
of  Fingal's  Cave,  in  Staffa,  a 
small  islet  among  the  Heb- 
rides. Almost  all  the  rocks 
of  the  island  are  basaltic^  and 
columnar ;  but  here  they  are 
so  arranged  as  to  present 
the  appearance  of  a  magnifi- 
cent work  of  art.  An  open- 
ing from  the  sea,  sixty -six 
feet  high  and  forty-two  feet 
wide,  formed  by  perpendicu- 
lar walls  crowned  by  an  arch, 
leads  to  a  natural  hall  more 
than  two  hundred  feet  long, 
and  bounded  on  each  side  by 
perpendicular  columns  of  great  size,  beautifully  jointed,  and 
arranged  in  varied  groups.  The  roof  is  beautifully  marked 
with  the  ends  of  pendent*  columns ;  and  the  whole  is  so  well 
calculated  to  suggest  the  idea  of  a  vast  cathedral,  as  to  have 
called  forth  the  well-known  lines  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  on  Fin- 
gal's Cave : 

"  Wlien,  as  to  Rhame  tlie  temples  decked 
By  fkill  of  earthly  architect, 
Nature  herself,  it  seemed,  would  rai-«o 
A  minst«r5  to  her  Maker's  praise." 

*'  The  Cathedral  of  lona,"  says  a  late  writer,  "  sinks  into 
insignificance  before  this  great  temple  of  nature,  reared,  as 
if  in  mockery  of  the  temples  of  man,  by  the  Almighty  power 
who  laid  the  beams  of  his  chambers  on  the  waters,  and  who 
walketh  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind." 


ill  Staffa. 


1  An-tTp'-a-uo8,  now  An-tu''-a-bo, 

3  Sta-i,a<''-tTtk,  n  pondoiit  cone  of  carbonate 

of  lime  in  the  funn  of  an  iciclo. 
^  Ba-s^lt'-i€  ;  basalt  is  a  grayish  black  stoae 


of  igneous   origin,  oft«n   in  a  columnr.r 

form. 
*  Pkno'-knt,  hanging. 
»  Min'-btkr,  a  cathedral  churcli. 


IstDlV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY. 


383 


LESSON   IX. — CAVES   IN  THE   UNITED   STATES. 

1.  Subterranean  cav- 
erns are  not  uncommon 
in  our  own  country,  and 
some  of  them  will  be 
found  to  rival  in  beauty, 
and  greatly  to  surpass  in 
extent,  those  of  the  Old 
World.  We  have  space 
to  enumerate  but  few  of 
them  here,  but  among 
the  more  noted  may  be 
mentioned  the  Big  Salt- 
petre Cave  in  Marion 
County,  Missouri,  which, 
although  yet  but  partial- 
ly explored,  promises  to 
rival  all  others  in  beau- 
ty and  extent ;  Weyer's 
Cave,  in  Augusta  Coun- 
ty, Virginia  ;  and  the  cel- 
ebrated Mammoth  Cave 
in  Kentucky. 

2.  Weyer's  Cave,  which  is  in  a  limestone  region,  has  a 
length  of  sixteen  hundred  feet  in  a  straight  line,  but  the  ag- 
gregate of  its  branches  and  windings  is  near  three  thousand. 
Its  numerous  and  extensive  apartments,  which  have  received 
various  names  from  their  fancied  resemblance  to  temples,  pal- 
aces, halls,  cathedrals,  etc.,  and  which  abound  in  stalactites^  of 
almost  every  possible  variety  of  form  and  grouping,  have  been 
not  inappropriately  compared  to  the  enchanted  palaces  of 
Eastern  story.  An  engraving  of  the  "Hall  of  Statuary," 
which  we  place  at  the  head  of  this  lesson,  showing  the  stalag- 
mites^  rising  from  the  floor,  and  the  pendent  stalactites^  still 
dripping  with  lime-water,  illustrates  the  process  of  these  cu- 
rious formations. 

3.  But  the  largest  and  most  remarkable  cave  in  the  world 
is  the  famous  Mammoth  Cave  in  Kentucky,  a  region  of  vast 
and  still  unknown  extent,  hidden  from  the  light  of  day.  It 
has  already  been  explored  to  the  distance  of  ten  miles,  and  a 
river  navigable  by  boats  aflbrds  a  convenient  means  of  penp- 


Hall  of  statuary,  in  Weyer's  Cave,  Virginia. 


384  willson's  fiftu  eeadek.  Pakt  VIII. 

trating  its  subterranean  recesses.  Stalactites  of  immense  size 
and  fantastic  forms  adorn  the  interior,  though  they  are  less 
brilliant  and  beautiful  than  those  of  some  other  caverns. 

4.  Bats  and  rats  are  abundant  in  this  cave,  and  several  spe- 
cies of  insects  are  found  in  its  dark  recesses.  In  its  waters 
have  been  found  two  species  of  fish,  in  color  nearly  white,  and 
unknown  elsewhere.  One  of  these  is  the  eyeless  fish ;  and 
the  other,  though  with  the  appearance  of  eyes,  is  entirely 
blind,  showing  that  where  eyes  are  of  no  use,  nature  finally 
dispenses  with  them — a  proceeding  in  perfect  harmony  with 
the  j^hysiological  law  that  disuse  of  an  organ  gradually  leads 
to  its  destruction. 

5.  A  volume  might  be  written  descriptive  of  the  wonders 
of  this  "  Mammoth  Cave" — of  its  mysterious  chambers,  its 
pillared  domes,  its  echoing  halls,  its  fathomless  gulfs,  and  its 
dark  waters ;  but  in  the  brief  space  at  our  command  we  can 
not  do  better  than  submit  the  following  from  the  pen  of  an 
American  poet. 

»  Sta-lag'-mTte,  Sta-l ag'-tTte,  layers  or  de- 1    ing  from  the  floor,  the  latter  hanging  from 
posits  of  carbonate  of  lime,  tho  former  ri8-|    the  roof. 


LESSON   X. — THE  MAMMOTH   CAVE. 

1.  All  day,  as  day  is  reckoned  on  the  earth, 
I've  wandered  in  these  dim  and  awful  aisles, 
Shut  from  the  blue  and  breezy  dome  of  heaven ; 
While  thoughts,  wild,  drear,  and  shadowy,  have  swept 
Across  my  awe-struck  soul,  like  spectres  o'er 

The  wizard's  magic  glass,  or  thunder-clouds 
O'er  the  blue  waters  of  the  deep.     And  now 
I'll  sit  me  down  upon  yon  broken  rock. 
To  muse  upon  the  strange  and  solemn  things 
Of  this  mysterious  realm. 

2.  All  day  my  steps 
Have  been  amid  the  beautiful,  the  wild. 
The  gloomy,  the  terrific.     Crystal  founts, 
Almost  invisible  in  their  serene 

And  pure  transparency— high  pillar'd  domes, 

With  stars  and  flowers  all  fretted'  like  the  halls 

Of  Oriental  monarchs — rivers,  dark 

And  drear,  and  voiceless  as  oblivion's  stream 

That  flows  through  Death's  dim  vale  of  silence — gulfs, 

All  fathomless,  down  which  the  loosened  rock 

Plunges,  until  its  far-off  echoes  come 

Fainter  and  fainter,  like  the  dying  roll' 

Of  thunders  in  tho  distance — Stygian^'  pools, 

Whose  agitated  waves  give  back  a  sound 

Hollow  and  dismal,  like  the  stUlcu  roar 


1st  DiV.  OP PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  385 

In  the  volcano's  depths — these,  these  have  left 
Their  spell  upon  me,  and  their  memories 
Have  passed  into  ray  spirit,  and  are  now 
Blent  with  my  being,  till  they  seem  a  part 
Of  my  own  immortality. 

3.  God's  hand, 
At  the  creation,  hollowed  out  this  vast 
Domain  of  darkness,  where  no  herb  nor  flower 
E'er  sprang  amid  the  sands ;  no  dews  nor  rains, 
Nor  blessed  sunbeams,  fell  with  freshening  power ; 
Nor  gentle  breeze  its  Eden-message  told 

Amid  the  dreadful  gloom.     Six  thousand  years 

Swept  o'er  the  earth  ere  human  footprints  marked 

This  subterranean  desert.     Centuries, 

Like  shadows,  came  and  passed,  and  not  a  sound 

Was  in  this  realm,  save  when  at  intervals, 

In  the  long  lapse  of  ages,  some  huge  mass 

Of  overhanging  rock  fell  thundering  down, 

Its  echoes  sounding  through  these  corridors^ 

A  moment,  and  then  dying  in  a  hush 

Of  silence,  such  as  brooded  o'er  the  earth 

When  earth  was  chaos. 

4.  The  great  mastodon,* 
The  dreaded  monster  of  the  elder  world, 
Passed  o'er  this  mighty  cavern,  and  his  tread 
Bent  the  old  forest  oaks  like  fragile  reeds, 

And  made  earth  tremble.     Armies  in  their  pride, 
Perchance,  have  met  above  it  in  the  shock 
Of  war,  with  shout,  and  groan,  and  clarion  blast, 
And  the  hoarse  echoes  of  the  thunder-gun. 
The  storm,  the  whirlwind,  and  the  hurricane 
Have  roared  above  it,  and  the  bursting  cloud 
Sent  down  its  red  and  crashing  thunder-bolt. 
Earthquakes  have  trampled  o'er  it  in  their  wratl^ 
Rocking  earth's  surface  as  the  storm-wind  rocks 
The  old  Atlantic  ;  yet  no  sound  of  these 
E'er  came  down  to  the  everlasting  depths 
Of  these  dark  solitudes. 

5.  How  oft  we  gaze 
With  awe  or  admiration  on  the  new 
And  unfamiliar,  but  pass  coldly  by 

The  lovelier  and  the  mightier !     Wonderful 
Is  this  lone  world  of  darkness  and  of  gloom, 
But  far  more  wonderful  yon  outer  world. 
Lit  by  the  glorious  sun.     These  arches  swell 
Sublime  in  lone  and  dim  magnificence. 
But  how  sublimer  God's  blue  canopy 
Beleaguered^  with  his  burning  cherubim,^ 
Keeping  their  watch  eternal ! 

6.  Beautiful 

Are  all  the  thousand  snow-white  gems  that  lie 
In  these  mysterious  chambers,  gleaming  out 
R 


386  WILLSON*S  FIFTH  BEADEK.  Pabt  VIII. 

Amid  the  melancholy  gloom ;  and  wild 

These  rocky  hills,  and  cliffs,  and  j,'ulfs;  but  far 

More  beautiful  and  wild  the  things  that  greet 

The  wanderer  in  our  world  of  light — the  stars 

Floating  on  high,  like  islands  of  the  bless' d — 

The  autumn  sunsets,  glowing  like  the  gate 

Of  far-off  Paradise — the  gorgeous  clouds, 

On  which  the  glories  of  the  earth  and  sky 

Meet  and  commingle — earth's  unnumbered  flowers 

All  turning  up  their  gentle  eyes  to  heaven — 

The  birds,  with  bright  wings  glancing  in  the  sun, 

Filling  the  air  with  rainbow  miniatures — 

The  green  old  forests,  surging  in  the  gale — 

The  everlasting  mountains,  on  whose  peaks 

The  setting  sun  burns  like  an  altar  flame — 

And  ocean,  like  a  pure  heart,  rendering  back 

Heaven's  perfect  image,  or  in  his  wild  wrath 

Heaving  and  tossing  like  the  stormy  breast 

Of  a  chained  giant  in  his  agony. — George  D.  Prentice. 

1  Fekt'-tep,  formed  into  raised  work.  *  Mas'-to-don,  an  animal  much  like  the  ele- 

»  Styg'-i-an,  dark;  pertaining  to  the  river      pliant,  now  extinct.     See  p.  469. 

Styx,  a  fabulous  river  vf  the  lower  world,  =  Be-lka'-«ueeei),  studded  with ;  surround- 

which  was  to  be  crossed  in  passing  to  the      ed  by,  as  by  an  army  that  Mfitaucrs  a  city. 

regions  of  the  dead.  s  (juKg'.iJ.mj,^  the  plural  of  cherub.     Her<^ 

3  €dR'-si-DOBs,  gallery-like  passages.  meaning  the  atam.    See  Genesis,  iii.,  24. 


LESSON    XI. AVALANCHES   AND   GLACIERS. 

1 .  Vast  masses  of  snow,  which  accumulate  on  the  precip- 
itous sides  of  mountains,  being  frequently  disturbed  from 
Llieir  positions,  roll  or  slide  down  to  lower  levels. 

Hark !  the  rushing  snow  1 
The  sun-awakened  avalanche !  whose  mass, 
Thrice  ."ifted  by  the  storm,  had  gathered  there 
Flake  after  flake ;  in  heaven-defying  minds 
As  thought  by  thouglit  is  piled,  till  some  great  truth 
Is  lof)Seiied,  and  tlie  nations  echo  round, 
Shaken  to  their  roots,  aa  do  the  mountains  now. — Sukllet. 

2.  Immense  masses  of  earth  and  rock,  also,  loosened  by 
the  rains  or  by  the  thawing  of  the  frosts,  are  precipitated 
down  the  mountain  steeps,  sometimes  sweeping  before  them 
whole  forests,  and  overwhelming  villages  in  the  valleys  be- 
neath. Such  rolling  or  sliding  masses,  whether  of  snow,  or 
of  earth  and  rocks,  are  called  avalanches.  Such,  also,  are 
mountain-slides,  which  are  a  const^it  terror  to  the  inhabitants 
of  the  narrow  Alpine  valleys. 

3.  The  name  oi  glaciers  is  given  to  those  immense  masses 
of  ice  which  accumulate  on  the  peaks  and  slopes,  but  in  the 
greatest  quantities  in  the  upper  valleys  of  lofty  mountains. 
Although  those  ])arts  of  the  mountains  which  are  above  the 
line  of  congelation  are  covered  with  perpetual  sno>v,  yet  this 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGBAPHY. 


387 


snow,  being  partially  thawed  during  the  summer  months,  is, 
on  the  approach  of  winter,  converted  into  ice,  thus  constitu- 
ting what  is  called  a  glacier.  Yet  the  glacier  ice  does  not 
resemble  that  found  in  ponds  and  rivers ;  not  being  formed 
in  layers,  but  consisting  of  small  grains  or  crystals  of  con- 
gealed snow,  it  has  neither  the  compactness,  the  solidity,  nor 
the  transparency  of  river  ice. 

4.  The  glacier  ice,  descending  by  a  thousand  channels 
along  the  slopes  of  the  mountains  into  the  valleys,  accumu- 
lates there  in  vast  beds  or  fields,  presenting,  where  the  de- 
scent of  the  valley  is  gradual,  a  very  level  surface,  and  with 
few  crevices ;  but  where  there  is  a- rapid  or  rugged  declivity 
the  surface  is  rent  with  numerous,  and  often  deep  and  dan- 
gerous chasms,  and  covered  with  elevations  of  icy  peaks 
which  are  sometimes  one  or  two  hundred  feet  high.  These 
glaciers  not  unfrequently  work  their  way  gradually  down 
into  the  lower  valleys. 

5.  This  is  particularly  the  case  in  the  valley  of  Chamouni, 
where  the  singular  specta- 
cle is  presented  of  huge  ^r  j^i&tA%4^  ::^=^ 
pyramids  of  ice  of  a  thou- 
sand fantastic  forms  in  jux- 
taposition with  the  most 
luxuriant  pastures,  or  tow- 
ering in  majestic  grandeur 
in  the  midst  of  verdant 
forests.  "  The  snow-white 
masses,"  says  Lyell,  "are 
often  relieved  by  a  dark 
background  of  pines,  as  in 
the  valley  of  Chamouni; 
and  they  are  not  only  sur- 
rounded with  abundance 
of  the  wild  rhododendron 
in  full  bloom,  but  they  en- 
croach still  lower  into  the 
region  of  cultivation,  and 
trespass  on  fields  where 
the  tobacco-plant  is  flour- 
ishing by  the  side  of  the 
peasant's  hut." 

6.  The  lower  extremities  of  these  glaciers  are  sometimes 
excavated  by  the  melting  of  the  ice  into  the  form  of  immense 
grottoes,  adorned  with  the  finest  stalactic  crystallizalions. 


Au  Alpine  Glacier. 


308  willson's  fifth  beadeb.  Pabt  Vni. 

whose  brilliant  azure  tints  are  reflected  on  the  foaming 
streams  and  torrents  which  generally  issue  from  these  cav- 
erns, forming  altogether  so  beautiful  and  imposing  a  picture 
as  to  defy  the  most  faithful  pencil  to  portray  it  accurately. 
These  scenes  are  beautifully  described  by  Coleridge  in  his 

HYMN  BEFOKE  SUNRISE  IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  CHAMOUNI. 

T.  a.  "  Ye  ice  falls* !  ye  that  from  the  mountain's  brow 

Adown  enormous  ravines  nlope  amain — 
Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice, 
And  stopped  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge' : 

a.  Motionless  torrents^  I  silent  cataracts^ ! 

Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon^  ?    Who  biide  the  etin 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows^  ?    Who,  with  living  flowers 
Of  loveliest  blue,  spread  garlands  at  your  feet^  ? 
God''  I  let  the  torrent.",  like  a  shout  of  nations, 

6.  Answer  I  and  let  the  ice  plains  echo    God^  1 

God^  I  sing,  ye  meadow  streams',  with  gladsome  voice^  I 
Ye  pine  groves',  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds^  I 
And  they,  t(X),'  have  a  voice\  yon  plles'of  8now\ 

6.  And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder    God^  1" 

8.  It  is  known  that  the  great  glacier  beds  of  Switzerland 
move  gradually  and  silently  down  the  valleys  at  the  rate  of 
about  twenty-five  feet  annually — a  phenomenon  which  has 
long  been  an  interesting  subject  of  scientific  investigation, 
"  Philosophers  and  naturalists,"  says  Brande,  "  have  attribu- 
ted the  downward  movement  of  a  glacier  to  various  causes ; 
but  by  far  the  most  prevalent  opinion  respecting  it  is  that  of 
Saussure,  who  maintained  it  was  nothing  more  than  a  slip- 
ping upon  itself,  occasioned  by  its  own  weight.  On  the  other 
hand,  M.  Agassiz  ascribes  this  motion  to  the  expansion  of  the 
ice,  resulting  from  the  congelation  of  the  water  w^hich  has 
filtered  into  it  and  penetrated  its  cavities ;  while  M.  R.  Mal- 
let is  inclined  to  attribute  it  to  the  hydrostatic  pressure  of 
the  water  jrhich  flows  at  the  bottom,  and  makes  rents  in  the 
mass." 

9.  The  inhabitants  of  the  plains,  reposing  in  almost  unin- 
terrupted security  from  that  "  war  of  the  elements"  which 
nature  ever  wages  in  more  elevated  regions,  seldom  realize 
the  many  dangers  from  avalanches  of  snow,  and  ice,  and 
rocks,  and  mountain  torrents,  to  which  the  "  dwellers  of  the 
hills"  are  almost  constantly  exposed.  To  their  reflections  we 
commend  the  following  picture,  which  has  had  many  a  coun- 
terpart in  the  Scottish  Highlands,  in  the  upper  Swiss  valleys, 
find  in  all  mountain  regions  where  man  plants  his  dwelling. 
It  is  but  a  few  years  since  that  an  entire  family  of  nine  per- 

ff,  n.  The  direct  address,  when  ercJamatortf^  takes  the  falling  inflection. 
b,  b.  Good  examples  of  the  rhetorical  panse  of  enfpenslon.    See  pagfe  92. 


IstDlV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGKAPHY.  389 

sons,  residing  in  a  cottage  at  the  celebrated  "  Notch,"  a  nar- 
row defile  of  the  White  Mountains  of  New  Hampshire,  was 
destroyed  by  an  avalanche  of  earth  and  water,  not  one  being 
left  to  relate  the  events  of  that  night  of  terrors.  What  gives 
to  the  event  a  peculiarly  mournful  interest,  the  house  from 
which  they  had  fled,  doubtless  on  the  first  alarm,  was  left  un- 
injured amid  the  surrounding  desolation. 


LESSON   XII. THE   COTTAGE    OF  THE   HILLS. 

1.  How  sweetly  'neatli  the  pale  moonlight, 
That  slumbers  on  the  woodland  height, 
Yon  little  cot  appears,  just  seen 

Amid  the  twining  evergreen. 
That  fondly  clings  around  its  form. 
Poor  trembler,  I  have  seen  like  thee, 
Fond  woman  in  her  constancy, 
E'en  when  the  stormiest  hour  came  on. 
Cling  closer  to  the  much-loved  one. 
Nor  dream,  till  every  tie  was  parted. 
That  all  within  was  hollow-hearted. 

2.  Yon  little  cot  looks  wondrous  fair, 
And  yet  no  taper-light  is  there ! 
Say,  whither  are  its  dwellers  gone  ? 
Bird  of  the  mountain,  thou  alone 
Saw  by  the  lightning  from  on  high. 
The  mountain-torrent  rushing  by ; 
Beheld,  upon  its  wild  wave  borne, 
The  tall  pine  from  the  hill- top  torn. 
Amid  its  roar,  thine  ear  alone 

Heard  the  shrill  shriek — the  dying  groan — 
The  prayer  that  struggled  to  be  free — 
Breathed  forth  in  life's  last  agony ! 
In  vain — no  angel  form  was  there — 
The  wild  wave  drowned  the  suiFerers'  prayer 
As  down  the  rocky  glen  they  sped — 
The  mountain  spirits  shriek'd  and  fled ! 

3.  'Twas  morning ;  and  the  glorious  sun 
Shone  on  the  work  which  death  had  done — 
On  shattered  cliff,  and  broken  branch, 

TTie  ruin  of  the  avalanche ! 

And  there  lay  one,  upon  whose  brow 

Age  had  not  shed  its  wintry  snow ; 

The  fragment  in  whose  clenched  hand  told 

How  firm  on  life  had  been  his  hold. 

While  the  curled  lip,  the  upturned  eye, 

Told  of  a.  father'' s  agony  ! 

And  there  beside  tihe  torrent's  path, 

Too  pure,  too  sacred  for  its  wrath, 


390  willson's  fifth  EEADER.  Part  Vin. 

Lay  one,  whose  arms  still  closely  pressed 
An  iTi/'ant  to  her  frozen  breast. 
The  kiss,  upon  its  pale  cheek  sealed, 
A  mother's  quenchless  love  revealed. 

4.  Sire,  mother,  offspring — all  were  there, 
Not  one  had  'scaped  the  conqueror's  snare. 
Not  one  was  left  to  weep  alone ; 

The  ^^  dwellers  of  the  hilV  were  gone! 
The  wild  bird,  soaring  far  on  high, 
Beheld  them  with  averted  eye ; 
The  forest  prowler,  as  he  pass'd, 
Looked  down  upon  the  rich  repast. 
But  dared  not  banquet.     'Twas  a  spell 
Which  bound  them  in  that  lonely  dell ; 
And  there  they  slept  so  peacefully, 
That  the  lone  pilgrim,  passing  by, 
Had  deemed  them  of  a  brighter  sphere, 
Condemned  a  while  to  linger  here, 
"Whose  pure  eyes,  sickening  at  the  sight 
Of  sin  and  sorrow's  withering  blight, 
Had  sought,  in  tears,  that  silent  glen. 
And  slumbered — ne'er  to  wake  again. 

5.  And  there  they  found  them  ;  stranger  hands 
Bore  them  to  where  yon  cottage  stands. 
And  there,  one  summer  evening's  close, 
They  left  them  to  their  last  repose. 

Such  the  brief  page  thy  story  fills, 

Thou  lonely  *'  cottage  of  the  hills." 

E'en  while  I  gaze,  night's  gloomy  shade 

Is  gathering,  as  the  moonbeams  fade. 

Around  tliy  walk  they  faintly  play — 

They  tremble — gleam — then  flit  away; 

They  fade — they  vanish  down  the  dell : 

Lone  "cottage  of  the  hills" — ^farewell! — AnonymouM. 


LESSON"  XIIT. — VOLCANOES  and  earthquakes. 

1.  Openings  in  the  crust  of  the 
earth,  usually  through  mountains, 
from  which  issue  smoke,  flame,  or 
erases  so  illuminated  as  to  appear 
like  flame,  and  streams  of  melted 
rock  called  lava,  are  known  by  the 
name  of  volcanic  craters.  The  "burn- 
ing mountains"  themselves  are  usu- 
ally called  volcanoes.  An  earth- 
quake^ or  "  shaking  of  the  earth," 
__  ^^  is  probably  produced  by  fractures 

Volcano  of  vesnvJua.  and  suddcn  hcavini^s  and  sinkings 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  391 

in  the  elastic  crust  of  the  globe,  caused  by  the  pressure  of  the 
liquid  fire,  vapor,  and  gases  in  its  interior.  Volcanoes  are  the 
chimneys  of  these  internal  fires,  and  when  they  get  vent  the 
earthquake  always  ceases. 

2.  It  appears,  from  numerous  observations,  that  the  inter- 
nal heat  of  the  earth  gradually  increases  as  we  descend  below 
the  surface,  so  that,  at  the  depth  of  two  hundred  miles,  the 
hardest  substances  must  be  in  a  state  of  fusion ;  but  whether 
our  globe  is  encompassed  by  a  mere  stratum  of  melted  lava 
at  that  depth,  or  its  whole  interior  is  a  ball  of  liquid  fir^  sev- 
enty-six hundred  miles  in  diameter,  inclosed  in  a  thin  coating 
of  solid  matter,  men  of  science  are  not  agreed. 

3.  Some  portions  of  the  earth  are  much  more  subject  to 
volcanoes  and  earthquakes  than  others.  The  range  of  the 
Andes,  from  Cape  Horn  to  California,  with  a  cross  section 
embracing  the  Caribbean  Sea,  and  extending  westward  quite 
across  the  Pacific  Ocean,  is  one  vast  district  of  igneous  ac- 
tion. A  great  volcanic  chain,  beginning  at  the  northeastern 
extremity  of  Asia,  follows  the  coast-line  around  Asia  and  Af- 
rica, and  thence  up  to  the  Canaries  and  the  Azores,  while  a 
broad  belt  extends  over  the  Mediterranean  and  a  large  part 
of  Central  Asia.  Northwardly  the  volcanic  fires  are  devel- 
oped in  Iceland  with  tremendous  force ;  and  the  recently  dis- 
covered antarctic  land  is  an  igneous  formation  of  the  boldest 
structure,  whence  a  volcano  in  high  activity  rises  twelve  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  perpetual  ice  of  those  polar  deserts,  and 
within  nineteen  and  a  half  degrees  of  the  south  pole.  On  an 
average,  twenty  volcanic  eruptions  take  place  annually  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  world. 

4.  Volumes  might  be  filled  with  accounts  of  the  destruct- 
ive effects  of  earthquakes  and  volcanoes.  Whole  cities,  of 
which  Herculaneum,  Pompeii,  and  Stabise  are  examples, 
have  been  buried  beneath  the  burning  fire  of  liquid  mount- 
ains. But  where  one  city  has  been  destroyed  by  lava,  twen- 
ty have  been  shaken  down  by  the  rocking  and  heaving  of 
earthquakes.  Prominent  on  the  list  of  the  latter  is  the  city 
of  Antioch,  in  Asia  Minor. 

5.  "  Imagine,"  says  Dr.  Hitchcock,  "  the  inhabitants  of  that  great  city, 
crowded  with  strangers  on  a  festival  occasion,  suddenly  arrested  on  a  calm 
day  by  the  earth  heaving  and  rocking  beneath  their  feet ;  and  in  a  few 
moments  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  of  them  are  buried  by  falling 
liouses,  or  the  earth  opening  and  swallowing  them  up.  Such  was  the  scene 
which  that  city  presented  in  the  year  526 ;  and  several  times  before  and  since 
that  period  has  the  like  calamity  fallen  upon  it,  and  twenty,  forty,  and  sixty 
thousand  of  its  inhabitants  have  been  destroyed  at  each  time.     In  the  year 


392  WILLSON'S  FIFTH   READER.  Part  VIII. 

17  after  Christ,  no  less  than  thirteen  cities  of  Asia  Minor  were  in  like  man- 
ner overwhelmed  in  a  single  night. 

6.  "Think  of  the  terrible  destruction  that  came  upon  Lisbon  in  1756. 
The  sun  had  just  dissipated  the  fog  in  a  warm,  calm  morning,  when  sud- 
denly the  subterranean  thundering  and  heaving  began  ;  and  in  six  minutes 
the  city  was  a  heap  of  ruins,  and  sixty  thousand  of  the  inhabitants  were 
numbered  among  the  dead.  Hundreds  had  crowded  upon  a  new  quay  sur- 
rounded by  vessels.  In  a  moment  the  earth  opened  beneath  them,  and 
the  wharf,  the  vessels,  and  the  crowd  went  down  into  its  bosom ;  the  gulf 
closed,  the  sea  rolled  over  the  spot,  and  no  vestige  of  wharf,  vessels,  or  man 
ever  floated  to  the  surface." 

v.*  One  of  the  most  singular  effects  produced,  either  by 
earthquakes  or  by  the  gradual  pressure  of  the  internal  fires 
and  gases,  is  the  occasional  raising  of  the  earth's  crust  to  a 
great  extent.  In  South  America,  so  late  as  the  year  1822, 
an  area  of  one  hundred  thousand  square  miles  was  raised  sev- 
eral feet  above  its  present  level.  In  1819  a  strip  in  the  delta 
of  the  Indus,  fifty  miles  in  length  and  less  than  twenty  feet 
m  width,  was  raised  ten  feet  above  the  surrounding  plain. 
Along  the  eastern  coast  of  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  all  the  rocks 
and  islands  for  a  distance  of  one  hundred  miles  have  been 
gradually  rising  during  the  last  hundred  years,  and  in  the 
central  portion  the  elevation  already  attained  is  twenty-two 
feet. 

8.  Occasionally  volcanic  islands  suddenly  appear  above  the 
surface  of  the  ocean ;  and  when  this  is  the  case,  or  when  an 
earthquake  has  its  origin  beneath  the  ocean's  bed,  an  immense 
wave  is  sometimes  driven  upon  the  shore,  overwhelming  the 
inhabitants,  and  bearing  their  bodies  to  the  ocean  in  its  re- 
treat. The  earthquake  which  destroyed  Lisbon  in  1755  had 
its  origin  in  the  bed  of  the  Atlantic,  whence  the  shock  extend- 
ed over  an  area  of  about  seven  hundred  tliousand  square 
miles,  or  a  twelfth  part  of  the  circumference  of  the  globe. 

9.  It  was  by  an  enormous  wave,  occasioned  by  an  earth- 
quake that  had  its  origin  in  the  bed  of  the  INIediterranean, 
that  the  little  maritime  town  of  Scylla,  on  the  coast  of  Na- 
ples, was  destroyed  in  1783.  The  waters  passed  with  impetu- 
osity over  the  shore  of  Scylla,  and,  in  their  retreat  to  the  bos- 
om of  the  deep,  swept  away  four  thousand  human  beings 
Avho  had  thought  to  find  safety  in  the  barrenness  of  the  sands. 
This  catastrophe  is  vividly  2)ortrayed  in  the  following  lines : 

DESTRUCTION  OF  SCYLLA  IN  1783. 

10.  Calmly  the  night  came  down 

O'er  Scylla' s  shatter' d  walls  ; 
How  desolate  that  silent  town  I 
How  tenantle-ifl  tlio  halls 


IStDlV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  393 

Where  yesterday  her  thousands  trode, 
And  princes  graced  their  proud  abode ! 
11.  Low,  on  the  wet  sea-sand, 

Humbled  in  anguish  now, 
The  despot,*  midst  his  menial  band, 

Bent  down  his  kingly  brow — 
Ay,  prince  and  peasant  knelt  in  prayer, 
For  grief  had  made  them  equal  there. 

13.  Again  ! — as  at  the  morn, 

The  earthquake  rolled  its  car ; 
Lowly  the  castle-towers  were  borne, 

That  mock'd  the  storms  of  war. 
The  mountain  reerd--its  shiver'd  brow 
Went  down  among  the  waves  below. 
18.  Up  rose  the  kneelers  then. 

As  the  wave's  rush  was  heard : 
The  silence  of  those  fated  men 

Was  broken  by  no  word. 
But  closer  still  the  mother  press'd 
The  infant  to  her  faithful  breast. 

14.  One  long,  wild  shriek  went  up, 

Full  mighty  in  despair ; 
As  bow'd  to  drink  death's  bitter  cup 

The  thousands  gather'd  there; 
And  man's  strong  wail,  and  woman's  cry, 
Blent  as  the  waters  hurried  by. 
16.  On  swept  the  whelming  sea ; 

The  mountains  felt  its  shock, 
As  the  long  cry  of  agony 

Thrill'd  through  their  towers  of  rock ; 
And  echo  round  that  fatal  shore 
The  death-wail  of  the  sufferers  bore. 

16.  The  morning  sun  shed  forth 

Its  light  upon  the  scene. 
Where  tower  and  palace  strewed  the  earth 

With  wrecks  of  what  had  been ; 
But  of  the  thousands  who  were  gone. 
No  trace  was  left — no  vestige  shown. — Anonymous. 


LESSON  XIV. — THE  ocean:  its  mobal  gkandeuk. 

"The  sea!  the  sea!  the  open  sea  I 
The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free ! 
Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound. 
It  runneth  the  earth's  wide  regions  round  ; 
It  plays  with  the  clouds,  it  mocks  the  skies, 
Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies." 

1.  There  are  two  widely  different  aspects  in  which  the 
ocean  may  be  viewed.  It  may  be  regarded  as  an  object  of 
moral  grandeur — "the  symbol  of  a  drear  Immensity"— a 
Voice  that  sometimes  "speaketh  in  thunders"  to  awe  the 
world ;  a  Power,  terrible  in  its  wrath,  but  lovely  in  repose ; 
or  it  may  be  viewed  as  the  great  highway  of  commerce, 
and  as  a  vast  store-house  of  wealth  :  the  laws  which  govern 
its  tides,  its  waves,  and  its  currents  may  be  presented  as  ob- 
jects of  scientific  regard,  and  the  mysteries  of  its  depths  as 

•  The  Prince  of  Scylla  perished  with  hia  vassals. 
112 


394  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  VIII, 

opening  some  of  the  most  interesting  departments  in  natural 
history.  But  it  is  only  when  we  unite,  in  our  contemplation, 
these  various  aspects,  that  we  begin  to  have  any  adequate 
idea  of  the  real  interest  and  importance  of  this,  the  grandest 
division  of  our  globe. 

2.  The  first  impression  made  by  a  view  of  the  ocean  is 
doubtless  that  of  vastness,  illimitable — inappreciable ;  while 
the  thoughts  which  its  mighty  waters  teach  are  those  of 
"  Eternity,  Eternity,  and  Power."  Such  thoughts  are  forci- 
bly expressed  in  the  following  lines  addressed  to 

THE  OCEAN. 

8.  Oh  thou  vast  ocean  !  ever  sounding  sea ! 

Thou  symbol  of  a  drear  immensity ! 
Thou  tiling  that  winde^t  round  the  solid  world 
Like  u  huge  animal,  which,  doAvnward  hurled 
From  the  black  clouds,  Uch  weltering  and  alone, 
Lashing  and  writhing  till  its  strength  be  gone  1 
Thy  voice  is  like  the  thunder,  and  thy  sleep 
la  as  a  giant's  slumber,  loud  and  deep. 
Thou  speakest  in  the  east  and  in  the  west 
At  once,  and  on  thy  heavily-laden  breast 
Fleets  come  and  go,  and  things  that  have  no  life 
Or  motion,  yet  are  moved  and  met  in  strife. 

4.  The  earth  hath  naught  of  this :  no  chance  nor  change 

Ruffles  its  surface,  and  no  spirits  dare 

Give  answer  to  the  tempest-waken  air ; 

But  o'er  its  wastes  the  weakly  tenants  range 

At  will,  and  wound  its  bosom  as  tliey  go  : 

Ever  the  same,  it  hath  no  ebb,  no  flow ; 

But  in  their  stated  rounds  the  seasons  come, 

And  pass  like  visions  to  their  viewless  home, 

And  come  again,  and  vanish :  the  young  Spring 

Looks  ever  bright  with  leaves  and  blossoming ; 

And  Winter  always  winds  his  sullen  honi. 

When  the  wild  Autumn,  with  a  look  forlorn, 

Dies  in  his  stormy  manhood ;  and  the  skies 

Weep,  and  flowers  sicken,  when  the  Summer  flics. 
&  Thou  only,  terrible  ocean,  hast  a  ixiwer, 

A  will,  a  voice,  and  in  thy  wrathful  hour, 

Wlien  thou  dost  lift  thine  anger  to  the  clouds, 

A  fearful  and  magnificent  beauty  fhrouds 

Thy  broad  green  fureliead.     If  thy  waves  be  driven 

Backward  and  forward  by  the  shifting  wind, 

How  quickly  dost  thou  thy  great  strength  unbind, 

And  stretch  thine  arms,  and  war  at  once  with  Heaven ! 

fi.  Thou  trackless  and  immeastirable  main  1 

On  thee  no  record  ever  lived  again 
To  meet  the  hand  that  writ  it :  line  nor  lead 
Hath  ever  fathomed  thy  profoundost  dcops, 
Where  Imply  the  huge  monster  swells  and  sleeps, 
King  of  his  watery  limit,  who,  'tis  said. 
Can  move  the  mighty  ocean  into  storm — 
Oh,  wonderful  thou  art,  great  clement, 
And  fearful  in  thy  spUtmy  humors  Iwnt, 
And  lovely  In  roposo ;  thy  sumuu^r  form 
Is  beautiful,  and  when  thy  silver  waves 
Make  music  in  earth's  dark  and  winding  caves, 
I  love  to  wander  on  thy  jiebbled  beach. 
Marking  the  sunlight  at  the  evening  hour, 
y\nd  hearken  to  the  thoughts  thy  waters  teach — 
"  i:t<TnUy,  Kt^rnlty,  and  Power,"— Bryan  W.  Pbootob. 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  »  395 


LESSON  XY. — THE  oceajt:  its  physical  aspects. 

1.  The  bed  of  the  ocean,  like  dry  land,  is  diversified  by- 
plains  and  mountains,  table-lands  and  valleys,  sometimes  bar- 
ren, sometimes  covered  with  marine  vegetation,  and  teeming 
with  life.  Its  plateaus  and  depressions  have  been  ascertain- 
ed by  the  sounding-line,  and  are  mapped  out  in  profile  as  a 
part  of  our  geographical  knowledge.  Its  average  depth  is  be- 
lieved to  be  about  equal  to  the  height  of  the  land,  the  lowest 
valleys  of  the  ocean's  bed  corresponding  with  the  summits  of 
the  loftiest  mountains. 

2.  The  ocean  is  continually  receiving  the  spoils  of  the  land, 
washed  down  by  numerous  rivers,  and  deposited  as  sand  and 
mud,  or  held  in  solution  in  its  waters.  These  causes  tend  to 
diminish  its  depth  and  increase  its  superficial  extent.  There 
are,  however,  causes  in  operation  which  counteract  these 
agencies.  It  is  clearly  shown  by  geologists  that  processes 
of  elevation  and  subsidence  are  continually  taking  place  in 
different  parts  of  the  globe. 

3.  The  waters  of  the  ocean  contain  about  three  and  a  half 
per  cent,  of  saline  matter ;  but,  owing  to  the  melting  of  snow 
and  ice  in  the  polar  regions,  and  the  volumes  of  fresh  water 
poured  in  by  rivers,  the  degree  of  saltness  diminishes  toward 
the  poles,  and  also  near  the  shores.  The  temperature  of  the 
ocean,  though  varying  in  different  latitudes,  is  more  uniform 
than  that  of  the  land ;  its  color,  generally  of  a  deep  bluish- 
green,  is  varied  in  particular  localities  by  the  myriads  of  ani- 
malcules and  vegetable  substances  which  float  on  its  surface, 
and  also,  in  shallow  places,  by  the  color  of  the  bed  on  which 
it  rests.  In  some  parts  of  the  tropical  seas  the  waters  are  re- 
markably clear,  like  an  immense  vase  of  crystal ;  and  one  may 
look  downward  unmeasured  fathoms  beneath  the  vessel's  keel, 
but  still  find  no  boundary:  the  sight  is  lost  in  one  uniform 
transparent  blueness.  The  calm  "  midnight  ocean"  of  the 
tropics  has  been  beautifully  described  in  the  following  lines : 

4.  It  is  the  midnight  hour — the  heauteous  sea, 

Calm  as  the  cloudless  heaven,  the  heaven  discloses, 
While  many  a  sparkling  star,  in  quiet  glee, 

Far  down  within  the  wateiy  sky  reposes. 
As  if  the  ocean's  heart  were  stirr'd 
With  inward  life,  a  sound  is  heard, 

Like  that  of  dreamer  munrtiuring  in  his  sleep ; 
'Tis  partly  the  billow,  and  partly  the  air 
That  lies  like  a  gannent  floating  fair 

Above  the  h^ippy  deep. — John  Wilson. 


396  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pabi  VIII. 


LESSON   XVI. — SHIP   AMONG  THE  ICEBERGS. 

1.  A  FEARLESS  shape  of  brave  device, 

Our  vessel  drives  through  mist  and  rain 
Between  the  floating  ships  of  ice, 

Those  navies  of  the  northern  main ; 
Those  arctic  ventures  blindly  hurled. 

The  proofs  of  Nature's  olden  force, 
Like  fragments  of  a  crystal  world 

Long  shattered  from  its  skiey  course. 

2.  These  are  the  hurricanes  that  fright 

The  middle  sea  with  dream  of  wrecks. 
And  freeze  the  south  winds  in  their  flight. 

And  chain  the  Gulf  Stream  to  their  decks. 
At  every  dragon  prow  and  helm 

There  stands  some  viking  as  of  yore. 
Grim  heroes  from  the  boreal  realm. 

Where  Odin  rules  the  spectral  shore. 

3.  Up  signal  there !  and  let  us  hail 

Yon  looming  phantom  as  we  pass ; 
Note  all  her  fashion,  hull  and  sail, 

Within  the  compass  of  your  glass. 
See  at  her  mast  the  steadfast  glow 

Of  that  one  star  of  Odin's  throne ; 
Up  with  our  flag,  and  let  us  show 

The  constellation  on  our  own. 
And  speak  her  well ;  for  she  might  say, 

If  from  her  heart  the  words  could  thaw. 
Great  news  from  some  far  frozen  bay, 

Or  the  remotest  Esquimaux. 

4.  No  answer  :  but  the  sullen  flow 

Of  ocean  heaving  long  and  vast ; 
An  argosy  of  ice  and  snow. 
The  voiceless  North  swings  proudly  past. 


LESSON"   XVII. — THE  DEPTHS   OP   OCEAN. 

Drummond. 
1.  Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  a  view  of  the 
bottom  of  the  ocean  during  a  cahn,  even  round  our  own 
shores,  but  particularly  in  tropical  climates,  especially  when 
it  consists  alternately  of  beds  of  sand  and  masses  of  rock. 
The  water  is  frequently  so  clear  and  undisturbed  that,  at 
great  depths,  the  minutest  objects  are  visible ;  groves  of 
coral  are  seen  expanding  their  variously-colored  clumps, 
some  rigid  and  immovable,  and  others  waving  gracefully 
their  flexile  branches.     Sliells  of  every  form  and  hue  glide 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  S9l 

slowly  along  the  stones,  or  cling  to  the  coral  boughs  like 
fruit ;  crabs  and  other  marine  animals  pursue  their  prey  in 
the  crannies  of  the  rocks,  and  sea-plants  spread  their  limber 
leaves  in  gay  and  gaudy  irregularity,  while  the  most  beauti- 
ful fishes  are  on  every  side  sporting  around. 

2,  The  floor  is  of  sand,  like  the  mountain-drift, 

And  the  pearl-shells  spangle  the  flinty  snow ; 
Fi'om  coral  rocks  the  sea-plants  lift 

Their  boughs,  where  the  tides  and  billows  flow ; 
The  water  is  calm  and  still  below, 

For  the  winds  and  waves  are  absent  there; 
And  the  sands  are  bright  as  the  stars  that  glow 

In  the  motionless  fields  of  the  upper  aii\ 
8.  There,  with  itj  waving  blade  of  green, 

The  sea-flag  streams  through  the  silent  water, 
And  the  crimson  leaf  of  the  dulse  is  seen 

To  blush  like  a  banner  bathed  in  slaughter ; 
There,  with  a  light  and  easy  motion, 

The  fan-coral  sweeps  through  the  clear  deep  sea, 
And  the  yellow  and  scarlet  tufts  of  ocean 

Are  bending  like  corn  on  the  upland  lea ; 
And  life  in  rare  and  beautiful  fonns 

Is  sporting  amid  those  bowers  of  stone, 
And  is  safe  when  the  wrathful  spirit  of  storms 

Has  made  tUe  top  of  the  waves  his  own. 

4.  And  when  the  ship  from  his  fury  flies 

Where  the  myriad  voices  of  ocean  roar, 
When  the  wind-god  frowns  in  the  murky  skies, 

And  demons  are  waiting  the  wreck  on  shore. 
Then  far  below  in  the  peaceful  sea 

The  purple  mullet  and  gold-fish  rove,  ^ 

Where  the  waters  murmur  tranquilly 

Tlu'ough  the  bending  twigs  of  the  coral  grove. — Peecival. 

5.  The  allusion  to  the  "  peaceful  sea,"  below  the  reach  of 
the  storms  which  agitate  the  surface,  has  reference  to  the 
well-known  fact  that  the  effects  of  the  strongest  gale  do  not 
extend  below  the  depth  of  two  hundred  feet :  were  it  not  so, 
the  water  would  be  turbid,  and  shell-fish  would  be  destroyed. 


LESSON  XYin.— ocEAi^^  waves. 

Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean — roll ! 

Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin — his  control 

Stops  with  the  shore ;  upon  the  watei*y  plain 

The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own, 

When,  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain. 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 
And  I  have  loved  thee,  ocean !  and  my  joy 

Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles,  onward  :  from  a  boy 

I  wantoned  with  thy  breakers — they  to  me 

Were  a  delight ;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a  teiTor,  'twas  a  pleasing  fear. 

For  I  was,  as  it  were,  a  child  of  thee. 
And  tnisted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near. 
And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane — as  I  do  here. — Btbon. 


398  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  VIII. 

3.  The  three  great  movements  of  the  ocean  are  waves, 
caused  by  the  winds,  tides,  caused  by  the  attraction  of  the 
sun  and  moon,  and  currents,  caused  by  the  earth's  rotatory 
motion  and  the  unequal  heating  of  the  waters. 

4.  There  is  a  kind  of  wave  or  undulation  called  a  ground 
swell,  occasioned  by  the  long  continuance  of  a  heavy  gale. 
This  undulation  is  rapidly  transmitted  through  the  ocean  to 
places  far  beyond  the  direct  influence  of  the  gale  that  caused 
it,  and  often  it  continues  to  heave  the  smooth  and  glassy  sur- 
face of  the  sea  long  after  the  wind  and  surface  waves  have 
subsided. 

5.  The  force  of  waves  in  severe  gales  is  tremendous.  Mr. 
Stephenson  has  estimated  the  force  of  waves  which  were 
twenty  feet  high  as  being  three  to7is  to  each  square  foot 
against  perpendicular  masonry.  Waves  vary  in  magnitude, 
from  a  mere  ripple  to  enormous  billows,  but  their  height  in 
storms  is  from  ten  to  twenty-two  feet.  From  the  bottom  of 
the  hollow,  or  "  trough  of  the  sea,"  the  height  will  be  double 
that  of  the  wave,  or  from  twenty  to  forty-four  feet.  The  dis- 
tance between  one  "  storm  wave"  and  another  is  about  five 
hundred  and  sixty  feet,  and  the  velocity  of  the  waves  about 
thirty-two  miles  an  hour. 

•  6.  There  is  no  more  magnificent  sight  than  the  roll  of  the 
breakers  as  they  dash  upon  some  rock-bound  coast.  The 
"roar  of  the  surf"  after  a  storm  is  often  tremendous,  and 
may  be  heard  at  the  distance  of  many  miles.  The  spray  is 
sometimes  thrown  as  high  as  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet ;  and 
light-houses  more  than  a  hundred  feet  in  height  are  often  lit- 
erally buried  in  foam  and  spray,  even  in  those  ground  swells 
where  there  is  no  wind. 

^.  But  when  an  ocean  wave  has  exhausted  its  force,  and 
breaks  in  a  gentle  ripj)le  on  the  shore,  nothing  can  be  more 
peacefully  beautiful,  and  no  music  falls  with  sweeter  cadence 
on  the  ear.  IIow  different  the  picture  from  Byron,  which 
we  have  placed  at  the  head  of  this  lesson,  from  the  one  with 
which  we  close  I 

TO  A  DYING  WAVE. 

8.  LiHt !  thou  child  nf  wind  and  sea, 

Tell  mo  of  the  fiir-off  deep, 
WJicre  the  teiiii'iwtN  wind  is  free, 

And  tho  WHtt-rn  never  Hlcfp  1 
Thou  perchnuce  the  utorm  ha-t  aided, 

In  its  wurk  of  stem  dcnpnir, 
Or  perchancp  thy  hand  liath  hraided, 

In  deep  caves,  the  nienuiiid'H  hair. 

9.  Wave  1  now  on  the  pohlen  Bands, 

Silent  as  thou  art,  and  broken, 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL  GEOGRAPHY.  399 


Bear'sfc  thou  not  from  distant  strands 
To  my  heart  some  pleasant  token'  ? 

Tales  of  mountains  of  the  south, 
Spangles  of  the  ore  of  silver, 

Which  with  playful  singing  mouth, 
Thou  hast  leaped  on  high  to  pilfer'  ? 

10.  Mournful  wave !  I  deemed  thy  song 

Was  telling  of  a  mournful  prison, 
Which,  when  tempests  swept  along, 

And  the  mighty  wiads  were  risen, 
Foundered  in  the  ocean's  grasp, 

While  the  brave  and  fair  were  dying. 
Wave !  didst  mark  a  white  hand  clasp 

In  thy  folds  as  thou  wert  Hying? 

11.  Hast  thou  seen  the  hallowed  rock 

Wliere  the  pride  of  kings  reposes, 
Crowned  with  many  a  misty  lock. 

Wreathed  with  sapphire  green  and  roses? 
Or  with  joyous  playful  leap, 

Hast  thou  been  a  tribute  flinging. 
Up  that  bold  and  jutty  steep, 

Pearls  upon  the  south  wind  stringing? 

12.  Faded  wave!  ajoytothee. 

Now  thy  flight  and  toil  are  over  1 
Oh  may  my  departure  be 

Calm  as  thine,  thou  ocean  rover  I 
When  this  soul's  last  joy  or  mirth 

On  the  shore  of  time  is  driven, 
Be  its  lot  like  thine  on  earth, 

To  be  lost  away  in  heaven  1 — Anonymous. 


LESSOlliJ'    XIX. TIDES   AND   CURBENTS. 

1.  The  alternate  elevation  and  depression  of  the  waters  of 
the  ocean  twice  every  twenty-four  hours,  Avas  formerly  con- 
sidered one  of  the  greatest  mysteries  of  nature.  The  first 
man  who  clearly  explained  the  cause  and  phenomena  of  tides 
was  Sir  Isaac  Newton.  Their  true  cause  he  demonstrated  to 
be  the  attraction  of  the  sun  and  moon,  particularly  the  latter 
on  account  of  her  proximity  to  the  earth. 

2.  The  average  height  of  the  tides  will  be  increased  by  a 
very  small  amount  for  ages  to  come,  on  account  of  the  de- 
crease of  the  mean  distance  of  the  moon  from  the  earth ;  but 
after  they  have  reached  their  greatest  height,  a  reverse  move- 
ment will  take  place.  Thus  there  are  great  tides  of  tides,  or 
oscillations  between  fixed  limits,  requiring  immense  periods 
of  time  for  their  accomplishment.  The  tidal  wave  extends  to 
the  very  bottom  of  the  ocean,  and  moves  with  great  velocity. 

3.  "  Currents  of  various  extent,  magnitude,  and  velocity,"  says  Mrs. 
Somerville,  "  disturb  the  tranquillity  of  the  ocean ;  some  of  them  depend 
upon  circumstances  permanent  as  the  globe  itself,  others  on  ever-varying 
causes.  Constant  currents  are  produced  by  the  combined  action  of  the  ro- 
tation of  the  earth,  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the  trade- winds ;  periodical 
currents    are  occasioned  by  tides,  monsoons,  and   other   long-continued 


400  WILLSON's  fifth  reader.  Part  VIII. 

winds ;  temporary  currents  arise  from  the  tides,  melting  ice,  and  from  every 
pale  of  some  duration.  A  perpetual  circulation  is  kept  up  in  the  waters  of 
tlie  main  by  these  vast  marine  streams ;  they  are  sometimes  superficial  and 
sometimes  submarine,  according  as  their  density  is  greater  or  less  than  that 
of  the  surrounding  sea." 

4.  The  most  constant  and  most  important  of  all  these  cur- 
rents, and  one  which  exerts  a  modifying  influence  on  all  the 
others,  is  that  produced  by  the  rotation  of  the  earth  on  its 
axis.  As  the  waters  descend  from  the  poles,  where  they  have 
no  rotatory  motion,  the  earth's  surface  revolves  more  and 
more  rapidly,  until,  at  the  equator,  it  has  acquired  an  easter- 
ly motion  of  a  thousand  miles  an  hour ;  and  as  the  waters  do 
not  fully  partake  of  this  motion,  they  are  left  behind,  and 
consequently  seem  to  flow  westward  in  a  vast  stream  nearly 
four  thousand  miles  broad.  This  stream,  being  broken,  and 
its  parts  changed  in  various  directions  by  the  islands  and 
continents  which  it  meets  in  its  course,  gives  rise  to  numer- 
ous smaller  currents,  which  in  their  turn  are  again  modified 
by  the  general  westerly  flow,  and  by  winds,  rivers,  and  melt- 
ing ice. 

5.  Among  these  smaller  currents  is  the  "  Gulf  Stream," 
occasioned  chiefly  by  the  constant  flow  of  the  waters  of  the 
tropics  westward  across  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  A  part  of  this 
vast  heated  current  is  directed  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico ;  is- 
suing thence,  it  proceeds  in  a  northeasterly  direction  along 
the  coast  of  the  United  States,  and  being  deflected  still  farther 
eastward  by  the  great  island  of  Newfoundland,  it  crosses  the 
Atlantic,  and  spreads  its  warm  waters  around  the  coasts  of 
the  British  Isles.  "  It  is  the  influence  of  this  stream  upon 
climates,"  says  Lieutenant  Maury,  "  that  makes  Erin  the 
Emerald  Isle,  and  clothes  the  shores  of  Albion  with  evergreen 
robes;  while,  in  the  same  latitude  on  the  other  side,  the 
shores  of  Labrador  are  fast  bound  in  fetters  of  ice."  Any 
convulsion  of  the  globe  that  should  open  a  broad  channel 
through  the  isthmus  of  Panama  would  direct  this  stream  into 
the  Pacific,  and  change  the  British  Isles  into  a  scene  of  steril- 
ity and  desolation. 

6.  It  is  very  important  for  navigators  to  study  the  course 
and  velocity  of  the  ocean  currents,  as  the  length  and  safety 
of  the  voyage  dej)end  uj^on  them.  So  much  does  this  circu- 
lation of  the  ocean  resemble  the  circulation  of  fluids  in  the 
human  system,  that  our  distinguished  countryman,  Captain 
Maury,  who  has  so  successfully  studied  and  described  them, 
has  been  appropriately  called  the  "  Harvey  of  the  seas." 


1st  Div.  OF PHYSICAL   GE0GRA1»HY.  401 


LESSON"  XX.— LAKES. 


1.  The  depressions  on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  caused  by- 
earthquakes,  volcanoes,  or  other  means,  are  frequently  filled 
with  water,  and  constitute  what  are  termed  lakes.  Kivers 
meeting  with  obstructions  of  hills  and  rocky  ridges  often 
form  a  lake,  or  chains  of  lakes,  which  serve  the  purposes  of 
navigation,  and  give  variety  to  the  inland  landscape. 

2.  Many  lakes  are  fed  by  springs,  and  sometimes  they  are 
the  sources  of  large  rivers.  It  is  estimated  that  more  than 
half  the  fresh  water  on  the  globe  is  contained  in  the  great 
American  lakes,  the  largest  of  which  is  nearly  as  large  in  area 
as  England.  Lakes  are  most  numerous  in  high  latitudes, 
where  there  is  abundant  rain  and  but  little  evaporation. 

3.  The  five  great  American  lakes,  Superior,  Huron,  Erie, 
Michigan,  and  Ontario,  are  much  higher  than  the  level  of  the 
ocean.  Lake  Superior  has  an  elevation  of  more  than  six 
hundred  feet,  and  Lake  Ontario  two  hundred  and  thirty-four 
feet.  The  Great  Salt  Lake,  situated  in  the  elevated  table- 
land east  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  is  about  forty-two  hund- 
red feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  Yet  it  is  a  curious  fact 
that  those  great  salt-water  lakes  of  Asia,  the  Caspian  Sea, 
Lake  of  Tiberias,  and  the  Dead  Sea,  are  each  below  the  sea- 


402 


WILLSON  S   FIFTH    KEADEE. 


Part  VIII. 


level,  the  first  eighty-four  feet,  the  second  six  hundred  feet, 
and  the  third  more  than  thirteen  hundred  feet.     The  poet 
Percival,  in  the  following  ode,  has  painted  the  witching 
channs  of  hundreds  of  our  small  interior  lakes : 
TO  SENECA  LAKE. 

4.  "On  thy  fair  bosom,  Hilver  lake, 

The  wild  swan  spreads  his  snowy  sail, 
And  round  his  breast  the  ripples  break. 
As  down  he  bears  before  the  gale. 

5.  On  thy  fair  bosom,  waveless  stream, 

The  dipping  paddle  echoes  far, 
And  flashes  in  the  moonliglit  gleam, 
And  bright  reflecta  tlie  polar  star. 

6.  The  waves  along  thy  pebbly  shore, 

As  blows  the  north  wind,  heave  their  foam. 
And  curl  around  the  dashing  oar. 
As  late  the  boatman  hies  him  home. 

7.  How  sweet,  at  set  of  sun,  to  view 

Thy  golden  miiTor  spreading  wide. 
And  see  tlie  mist  of  mantling  blue 
Float  round  the  distant  mountain's  side. 

8.  At  midnight  hour,  as  shines  the  moon, 

A  sheet  of  silver  spreads  below. 
And  swift  she  cuts,  at  liighest  noon. 

Light  clouds,  like  wreaths  of  purest  snow. 

9.  On  thy  fair  bosom,  silver  lake. 

Oh  !  I  could  ever  sweep  tlie  oar. 

When  early  birds  at  morning  wake, 

And  evening  tells  us  toil  is  o'er." 


LESSON   XXI. SPRINGS   AND   RIVERS. 

S^  1.  In  addition  to  the  common  springs, 

with  whose  origin  every  one  is  familiar, 
mineral  springs  of  great  variety  abound 
in  difierent  countries,  the  waters  of  some 
of  which  merely  present  a  sparkling  ap- 
pearance, owing  to  the  presence  of  car- 
bonic acid  gas,  while  others  are  various- 
ly impregnated  with  mineral  substances, 
the  chief  of  which  arc  iron,  sulphur,  and 
salt. 

2.  Besides  these,  Iceland  presents  us 
:i  remarkable  group  of  hot  springs,  call- 
chI  geysers^  which  burst  forth  with  sub- 
t  orranean  noises,  and  frequently  at  reg- 
ular intervals,  throwing  up  water  and 
steam,  sometimes  to  the  height  of  one 
or  two  hundred  feet.  The  supposed 
cause  of  this  peculiar  action  is  the  heat- 
ing of  some  internal  fountain  of  water 


Oreat  (^eyeer  of  Iceland. 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY. 


403 


by  volcanic  agency,  until  a  sufficient  quantity  of  steam  is 
formed  forcibly  to  expel  the  wa- 
ter through  a 
channel  which 
has  its  opening 
In  the  spring. 
..  _   An  illustration 
i§   of  an  intermit- 


Section  of  a  Geyser. 


ti7ig  sprmg  is 
also  given,  for 
the  action  of 
which  it  is  suf- 
ficient to  refer 
tothejDrinciple 

of  the  siphon.*  intermitting  Spring. 

3.  The  excess  of  water  precipitated  as  rain  and  snow,  over 
what  is  evaporated  from  the  surface,  runs  in  streams,  called 
rivers,  to  lakes,  or  to  the  ocean.  The  position  of  mountains 
and  elevated  ridges  determines  the  course  and  length  of  riv- 
ers. Few  physical  causes  have  had  more  influence  in  the  lo- 
cation and  fortunes  of  men,  than  rivers.  Capitals  of  states 
and  countries  are  generally  on  rivers,  and  large  cities  either 
on  navigable  rivers  or  bays. 

4.  Rivers  are  associated  with  the  earliest  efforts  of  man- 
kind to  emerge  from  a  state  of  barbarism ;  but  they  are  no 
less  serviceabfe  to  nations  which  have  reached  the  acme  of 
civilization,  in  the  earliest  ages  they  were  regarded  with 
veneration,  and  became  the  objects  of  a  grateful  adoration, 
surpassed  only  by  that  paid  to  the  sun  and  the  host  of  heaven. 

5.  Nor  is  this  suprising ;  for  in  countries  where  the  labors 
of  the  husbandman  and  shepherd  depended,  for  a  successful 
issue,  on  the  falling  of  periodical  rains,  or  the  melting  of  the 
collected  snows  in  a  far-distant  country,  such  rivers  as  the 
Nile,  the  Ganges,  and  the  Indus  were  the  visible  agents  of 
nature  in  bestowing  on  the  inhabitants  of  their  banks  all  the 
blessings  of  a  rich  apd  spontaneous  fertility ;  and  hence  their 
waters  were  held  sacred,  and  they  received,  and  to  this  day 
retain,  the  adoration  of  the  countries  through  which  they  flow. 

•  Sec  p.  347.  Intermitting  springs  fiometiraes  flow  only  dnring  the  dry  season.  The 
cut  above  will  explain  this.  Suppose  the  internal  fountain  to  be  empty.  When  tlve  earth 
has  become  fully  saturated  with  water  during  the  wet  season,  the  water  begins  to  pene- 
trate to  the  fountain,  which  gets  filled  as  high  as  the  upper  bend  of  the  siphon  about  the 
time  when  the  dry  season  commences,  and  it  is  just  then  that  the  siphon  ber/rns  to  empty 
it;  and  it  is  evident  that  it  will  continue  to  act  until  the  fountain  is  exhausted.  After 
stopping,  the  water  can  not  flow  again  until  the  fountain  has  been  again  filled,  which  prob- 
ably will  not  be  until  near  the  end  of  the  wet  season. 


404 


WILT^ON'S   FIFTH    EEADEE. 


Part  VIII. 


6.  The  direction  and  extent  of  slopes  of  land  give  rise  to 
a  classification  of  rivers  called  river  systems^  which  can  be 
studied  at  length  in  works  on  physical  geography. 


LESSON   XXII.— CATARACTS. 


*i      The  Falls  op  Niagaba,  as  viewed  from  the 
Canada  side.     [On  the  right  of  the  picture  are 
seen  the  Horseshoe  Falls,  on  the  Canada  side  of 
the  stream;    beyond,  and  teparated  from  the 
former  by  Goat  Island,  are  the  Falls  on  the  Amer- 
ican side.     The  view  down  the  stream  has  been 
abridged  in  order  to  bring  in  the  Suspension  Bridge,  which 
is  seen  in  the  diptance.     The  effect  of  every  such  picture 
is  grciitly  increased  by  looking  at  it  through  a  tube,  wluch 
shall  sliut  out  the  view  of  surrounding  objects.     One  formed 
,by  partially  closing  the  hand  will  answer.] 

1.  Sometimes  large  rivers  fall  suddenly  over  perpendicular 
rocks,  forming  cataracts,  or  falls.  When  a  brook  or  small 
stream  presents  a  similar  phenomenon,  it  is  usually  called  a 
cascade. 

2.  In  mountain  regions  there  are  cascades  hundreds  of  feet 
in  heiglit — so  high  that,  from  the  resistance  of  the  air,  the  wa- 
ter reaches  tlie  bottom  as  a  fine  spray.  In  southern  Asia 
are  several  cascades  more  than  eight  hundred  feet  high :  the 
Fall  of  Staubach,  in  Switzerland,  described  in  Byron's  "Man- 
fred," has  a  perpendicular  descent  of  eight  hundred  feet ; 
and  the  Falls  of  the  Rhine,  though  not  so  lofty  as  many  oth- 
ers, are  highly  celebrated  for  their  beauty. 

3.  Among  American  waterfalls,  tlie  most  noted  are  those 
of  the  Montmorency,  near  Quebec,  which  descend  two  hund- 
red and  fortv  feet  in  an  unbroken  sheet :  the  Great  and  the 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGEAPHY.  405 

Little  Falls  of  the  Potomac,  in  Maryland ;  the  Falls  of  the 
Missouri ;  the  Rapids  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  five  hundred  miles 
from  its  source ;  and,  lastly,  the  grandest  of  all,  and  the  might- 
iest in  its  mass  of  waters,  the  world-renowned  Falls  of  Niag- 
ara. From  a  thousand  descriptions  of  this  great  natural  cu- 
riosity, our  space  limits  us  to  a  brief  selection. 

4.  "There  is  a  power  and  beauty,  we  may  say  a  divinity,  in  rushing  wa- 
ters, felt  by  all  who  acknowledge  any  sympathy  with  nature.  The  mount- 
ain stream,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  and  winding,  foaming,  and  glancing 
through  its  devious  and  stony  channels,  arrests  the  eye  of  the  most  careless 
or  business-bound  traveler,  sings  to  the  heart,  and  haimts  the  memoiy  of 
the  man  of  taste  and  imagination,  and  holds,  as  by  some  indefinable  spell, 
the  affections  of  those  who  inhabit  its  borders.  A  waterfall  of  even  a  few 
feet  in  height  will  enliven  the  dullest  scener}%  and  lend  a  charm  to  the  love- 
liest ;  while  a  high  and  headlong  cataract  has  always  been  ranked  among 
the  sublimest  objects  to  be  found  in  the  compass  of  the  globe. 

5.  "It  is  no  matter  of  surprise,  therefore,  that  lovers  of  nature  perform 
journeys  of  homage  to  that  sovereign  of  cataracts,  that  monarch  of  all  pour- 
ing floods,  the  Falls  of  Niagara.  It  is  no  matter  of  surprise  that,  although 
situated  in  what  might  have  been  called  a  few  years  ago,  but  can  not  be 
now,  the  wilds  of  North  America,  five  hundred  miles  from  the  Atlantic  coast, 
travelers  from  all  civilized  parts  of  the  world  have  encountered  all  the  difii- 
culties  and  fatigues  of  the  path  to  behold  this  prince  of  waterfalls  amid  its 
ancient  solitudes,  and  that,  more  recently,  the  broad  highways  to  its  domin- 
ions have  been  thronged.  By  universal  consent,  it  has  long  ago  been  pro- 
claimed one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world.  It  is  alone  in  its  kind.  Though 
a  waterfall,  it  is  not  to  be  compared  with  other  waterfalls.  In  its  majesty, 
its  supremacy,  and  its  influence  on  the  soul  of  man,  its  brotherhood  is  with 
the  living  ocean  and  the  eternal  hills." — Greenwood. 

6.  From  the  vicinity  of  the  famed  Table  Rock  on  the  Can- 
ada side,  the  whole  scene  is  presented  in  its  highest  degree 
of  grandeur  and  beauty.  On  the  right,  and  within  a  few  feet, 
is  the  edge  of  the  grand  crescent,  called  the  British,  or  Horse- 
shoe Fall,  which  is  more  than  one  third  of  a  mile  broad,  and 
one  hundred  and  fifty-three  feet  in  height.  Opposite  is  Goat 
Island,  which  divides  the  falls ;  and  lower  down,  to  the  left, 
is  the  American  Fall,  six  hundred  feet  in  breadth,  and  one 
hundred  and  sixty-four  feet  in  height.  From  a  writer  who 
first  viewed  the  falls  from  the  vicinity  of  Table  Rock,  we 
take  the  following  description  : 

7.  "A  mingled  rushing  and  thundering  filled  my  ears.  I  could  see 
nothing,  except  when  the  wind  made  a  chasm  in  the  spray,  and  then  tre- 
mendous cataracts  seemed  to  encompass  me  on  every  side;  while  below, 
a  raging  and  foamy  gulf  of  undiscoverable  extent  lashed  the  rocks  with 
its  hissing  waves,  and  swallowed,  under  a  horrible  obscurity,  the  smoking 
floods  that  were  precipitated  into  its  bosom. 

8.  "At  first  the  sky  was  obscured  by  clouds,  but,  after  a  few  minutes,  the 
sun  burst  forth,  and  the  breeze  subsiding  at  the  same  time,  permitted  the 
spray  to  ascend  perpendicularly.     A  host  of  pyramidal  clouds  rose  majes- 


406  willson's  fifth  eeadeb.  Pakt  Vin. 

tically,  one  after  another,  from  the  abyss  at  the  bottom  of  the  fall ;  and 
each,  when  it  had  ascended  a  little  above  the  edge  of  the  cataract,  dis- 
])layed  a  beautiful  rainbow,  which  in  a  few  moments  was  graduaUy  transfer- 
red into  the  bosom  of  the  clouds  that  immediately  succeeded. 

9.  "The  spray  of  the  Great  Fall  had  extended  itself  through  a  wide 
space  directly  over  me,  and,  receiving  the  full  influence  of  the  sun,  ex- 
hibited a  luminous  and  magnificent  rainbow,  which  continued  to  overarcfi 
and  irradiate  the  spot  on  which  I  stood,  while  I  enthusiastically  contem- 
plated the  indescribable  scene. 

10.  "The  body  of  water  which  composes  the  middle  part  of  the  Great 
Fall  is  so  immense  that  it  descends  nearly  two  thirds  of  the  space  without 
being  ruffled  or  broken ;  and  the  solemn  calmness  with  which  it  rolls  over 
the  edge  of  the  precipice  is  finely  contrasted  with  the  perturbed  appear- 
ance it  assumes  after  having  reached  the  gulf  below.  But  the  water  toward 
each  side  of  the  fall  is  shattered  the  moment  it  drops  over  the  rock,  and 
loses,  as  it  descends,  in  a  great  measure,  the  character  of  a  fluid,  being 
divided  into  pyramidal-shaped  fragments,  the  bases  of  which  are  turned 
upward. 

11.  "The  surface  of  the  gulf  below  the  cataract  presents  a  verj'  singular 
aspect,  seeming,  as  it  were,  filled  with  an  immense  quantity  of  hoar-frost, 
which  is  agitated  by  small  and  rapid  undulations.  The  particles  of  water 
are  dazzlingly  white,  and  do  not  apparently  unite  together,  as  might  be 
supposed,  but  seem  to  continue  for  a  time  in  a  state  of  distinct  comminu- 
tion, and  to  repel  each  other  with  a  thrilling  and  shivering  motion,  which 
can  not  easily  be  described." — Howison. 

12.  By  descending  a  circular  staircase,  seventy  or  eighty 
feet  in  perpendicular  height,  a  person  may  pass,  by  a  narrow 
and  slippery  path,  behind  the  Great  Fall  on  the  Canada  side ; 
but  here  he  is  frightfully  stunned  by  the  roar  of  the  cataract ; 
clouds  of  spray  sometimes  envelop,  and  almost  suftbcate 
him,  and  it  is  only  a  person  of  the  strongest  nerves  that  can 
proceed  to  the  bottom  of  the  fall ;  and  there,  it  is  said,  only 
one  emotion  is  experienced  by  every  adventurer — that  of  un- 
controllable terror. 

13.  Most  descriptions  of  the  falls  are  those  of  persons  who 
have  viewed  them  only  in  fine  weather,  wlien  the  contrast  is 
most  marked  between  their  stern  and  awful  grandeur,  and 
the  beauty  of  the  surrounding  landscape.  But  it  seems  that 
their  grandeur  is  enhanced,  if  possible,  by  being  viewed  dur- 
ing a  thunder-storm. 

14.  "Presently,"  remarks  the  writer  from  whom  we  first 
quoted,  "  a  thunder-storm  rose  up  from  the  west,  and  passed 
directly  over  us ;  and  soon  another  came,  still  heavier  than 
the  preceding.  And  now  I  was  more  impressed  than  ever 
with  the  peculiar  motion  of  the  fall,  not,  however,  because  it 
experienced  a  change,  but  because  it  did  not.  The  lightning 
gleamed,  the  thunder  pealed,  the  rain  fell  in  torrents ;  the 
storms  were  grand ;  but  the  fall,  if  I  may  give  its  expression 


1st  DiV.  OF PHYSICAL   GEOGRAPHY.  407 

a  language,  did  DOt  heed  them  at  all !  the  rapids  poured  on 
with  the  same  quiet  solemnity,  with  the  same  equable  intent- 
ness,  undisturbed  by  the  lightning  and  rain,  and  listening  not 
to  the  loud  thunder." 


LESSON  XXIII. — A  vision's  spell — niagaea. 

1 .  I  STOOD  within  a  vision's  spell ; 

I  saw,  I  heard.     The  liquid  thunder 
Went  pouring  to  its  foaming  hell, 

And  it  fell, 

Ever,  ever  fell 
Into  the  invisible  abyss  that  opened  under. 

2.  I  stood  upon  a  speck  of  ground ; 

Before  me  fell  a  stormy  ocean. 
I  was  like  a  captive  bound ; 

And  around 

A  universe  of  sound 
Troubled  the  heavens  with  ever-quivering  motion. 

3.  Down,  down  forever — down,  down  forever, 

Something  falling,  falling,  falling,  ''*' 

Up,  up  forever — up,  up  forever. 

Resting  never. 

Boiling  up  forever. 
Steam-clouds  shot  up  with  thunder-bursts  appalling. 

4.  A  tone  that  since  the  birth  of  man 

Was  never  for  a  moment  broken, 
A  word  that  since  the  world  began, 

And  waters  ran. 

Hath  spoken  still  to  man — 
Of  God  and  of  Eternity  hath  spoken. 

5.  Foam-clouds  there  forever  rise  # 

With  a  restless  roar  o'erboiling — 
Rainbows  stooping  from  the  skies 

Charm  the  eyes. 

Beautiful  they  rise. 
Cheering  the  cataracts  to  their  mighty  toiling. 

6.  And  in  that  vision,  as  it  passed, 

Was  gathered  terror,  beauty,  power ; 
And  still,  when  all  has  fled,  too  fast. 

And  I  at  last 

Dream  of  the  dreamy  past. 
My  heart  is  full  when  lingering  on  that  hour.— ^non. 


EIGHTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIYISIOK 


LESSON   I. — THE  WAYSIDE   SPRING. 

1.  Fair  dweller  by  the  dusty  way — 

Bright  saint  within  a  mossy  shrine, 
The  tribute  of  a  heart  to-day 
Weary  and  worn  is  thine. 

2.  The  earliest  blossoms  of  the  year, 

The  sweet-brier  and  tlio  violet, 
The  ])ious  hand  of  spring  has  here 
Upon  thy  ahar  set. 

3.  And  not  alone  to  thee  is  given 

Tho  homage  of  the  pilgrim's  knee — 


EIGHTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  409 

But  oft  the  sweetest  birds  of  heaven 
Glide  down  and  sing  to  thee. 

4.  Here  daily  from  his  beechen  cell 

The  hermit  squirrel  steals  to  drink, 
And  flocks  which  cluster  to  their  bell 
Kecline  along  thy  brink. 

5.  And  here  the  wagoner  blocks  his  wheels, 

To  quaff  the  cool  and  generous  boon ; 
Here,  from  the  sultry  harvest  fields 
The  reapers  rest  at  noon. 

6.  And  oft  the  beggar,  marked  with  tan, 

In  rusty  garments  gray  with  dust, 
Here  sits  and  dips  his  little  can, 
And  breaks  his  scanty  crust ; 

7.  And,  lulled  beside  thy  whispering  stream, 

Oft  drops  to  slumber  unawares, 
And  sees  the  angel  of  his  dream 
Upon  celestial  stairs. 

8.  Dear  dweller  by  the  dusty  way. 

Thou  saint  within  a  mossy  shrine, 
The  tribute  of  a  heart  to-day 

Weary  and  worn  is  thine ! — Read. 


LESSON    II. THE  HEADSTONE. 

1.  The  coffin  was  let  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  grave,  the 
planks  were  removed  from  the  heaped-up  brink,  the  first  rat- 
tling clods  had  struck  their  knell,  the  quick  shoveling  was 
over,  and  the  long,  broad,  skillfully  cut  pieces  of  turf  were 
aptly  joined  together,  and  trimly  laid  by  the  beating  spade, 
so  that  the  newest  mound  in  the  church-yard  was  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  those  that  were  grown  over  by  the  un- 
disturbed grass  and  daisies  of  a  luxuriant  spring.  The  burial 
was  soon  over ;  and  the  party,  with  one  consenting  motion, 
having  uncovered  their  heads  in  decent  reverence  of  the  place 
and  occasion,  were  beginning  to  separate,  and  about  to  leave 
the  church-yard. 

2.  Here  some  acquaintances  from  distant  parts  of  the  par- 
ish, who  had  not  had  opportunity  of  addressing  each  other  in 
the  house  that  had  belonged  to  the  deceased,  nor  in  the  course 
of  the  few  hundred  yards  that  the  little  procession  had  to 
move  over  from  his  bed  to  his  grave,  were  shaking  hands 
quietly  but  cheerfully,  and  inquiring  after  the  welfare  of  each 
other's  families.  There  a  small  knot  of  neighbors  were  speak- 
ing, without  exaggeration,  of  the  respectable  character  which 
the  deceased  had  borne,  and  mentioning  to  one  another  little 

S 


410 

incidents  of  his  life,  some  of  them  so  remote  as  to  be  known 
only  to  the  gray-headed  persons  of  the  group ;  while  a  few 
yards  farther  removed  from  the  spot  were  standing  together 
parties  who  discussed  ordinary  concerns,  altogether  uncon- 
nected with  the  funeral,  such  as  the  state  of  the  markets,  the 
promise  of  the  season,  or  change  of  tenants ;  but  still  with  a 
sobriety  of  manner  and  voice  that  was  insensibly  produced 
by  the  influence  of  the  simple  ceremony  now  closed,  by  the 
quiet  graves  around,  and  the  shadow  of  the  spire  and  gray 
walls  of  the  house  of  God. 

3.  Two  men  yet  stood  together  at  the  head  of  the  grave, 
with  countenances  of  sincere  but  impassioned  grief.  They 
were  brothers,  the  only  sons  of  him  who  had  been  buried. 
And  there  was  something  in  their  situation  that  naturally 
kept  the  eyes  of  many  directed  upon  them  for  a  long  time, 
and  more  intently  than  would  have  been  the  case  had  there 
been  nothing  more  observable  about  them  than  the  common 
symptoms  of  a  common  sorrow.  But  these  two  brothers, 
who  were  now  standing  at  the  head  of  their  father's  grave, 
had  for  some  years  been  totally  estranged  from  each  other ; 
and  the  only  words  that  had  passed  between  them  during  all 
that  time  had  been  uttered  within  a  few  days  past,  during  the 
necessary  preparations  for  the  old  man's  funeral. 

4.  No  deep  and  deadly  quarrel  was  betw^een  these  broth- 
ers, and  neither  of  them  could  distinctly  tell  the  cause  of  this 
unnatural  estrangement.  Perhaps  dim  jealousies  of  their  fa- 
ther's favor — selfish  thoughts  that  will  sometimes  force  them- 
selves into  poor  men's  hearts  respecting  temporal  expecta- 
tions— unaccommodating  manners  on  both  sides — taunting 
words  which  mean  little  when  uttered,  but  which  rankle  and 
fester  in  remembrance — imagined  opposition  of  interests  that, 
duly  considered,  would  have  been  found  one  and  the  same — 
these,  and  many  other  causes,  slight  when  single,  but  strong 
when  rising  up  together  in  one  baneful  band,  had  gradually 
but  fatally  infected  their  hearts,  till  at  last  they,  who  in  youth 
had  been  seldom  separate  and  truly  attached,  now  met  at 
market,  and,  miserable  to  say,  at  church,  with  dark  and  avert- 
ed faces,  like  different  clansmen  during  a  feud. 

6.  Surely,  if  any  thing  could  have  softened  their  hearts  to- 
ward each  other,  it  must  have  been  to  stand  silently,  side  by 
side,  while  the  earth,  stones,  and  clods  were  falling  down  upon 
their  father's  cofiin.  And  doubtless  their  hearts  were  so 
softened.  But  pride,  though  it  can  not  prevent  the  holy  ai- 
fcctions  of  nature  from  being  felt,  may  prevent  them  from 


EIGHTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  411 

being  shown;  and  these  two  brothers  stood  there  together, 
determined  not  to  let  each  other  know  the  mutual  tenderness 
that,  in  spite  of  them,  was  gushing  up  in  their  hearts,  and 
teaching  them  the  unconfessed  folly  and  wickedness  of  their 
causeless  quarrel. 

6.  A  headstone  had  been  prepared,  and  a  person  came  for- 
ward to  plant  it.  The  elder  brother  directed  him  how  to 
place  it — a  plain  stone,  with  a  sand-glass,  skull,  and  cross- 
bones,  chiseled  not  rudely,  and  a  few  words  inscribed.  The 
younger  brother  regarded  the  operation  with  a  troubled  eye, 
and  said,  loudly  enough  to  be  heard  by  several  of  the  by-stand- 
ers,  "  William,  this  was  not  kind  in  you ;  you  should  have 
told  me  of  this.  I  loved  my  father  as  well  as  you  could  love 
him.  You  were  the  elder,  and,  it  may  be,  the  favorite  son ; 
but  I  had  a  right  in  nature  to  have  joined  you  in  ordering 
this  headstone,  had  I  not  ?" 

Y.  During  these  words  the  stone  was  sinking  into  the  earth, 
and  many  persons  who  were  on  their  way  from  the  grave  re- 
turned. For  a  while  the  elder  brother  said  nothing,  for  he 
had  a  consciousness  in  his  heart  that  he  ought  to  have  con- 
sulted his  father's  son  in  designing  this  last  becoming  mark 
of  affection  and  respect  to  his  memory  ;  so  that  the  stone  was 
planted  in  silence,  and  now  stood  erect,  decently  and  simply, 
among  the  other  unostentatious  memorials  of  the  humble 
dead. 

8.  The  inscription  merely  gave  the  name  and  age  of  the 
deceased,  and  told  that  the  stone  had  been  erected  "  by  his 
affectionate  sons."  The  sight  of  these  words  seemed  to  soften 
the  displeasure  of  the  angry  man,  and  he  said,  somewhat  more 
mildly,  "  Yes,  we  were  his  affectionate  sons ;  and,  since  my 
name  is  on  the  stone,  I  am  satisfied,  brother.  We  have  not 
drawn  together  kindly  of  late  years,  and  perhaps  never  may ; 
but  I  acknowledge  and  respect  your  worth ;  and  here,  before 
our  own  friends,  and  before  the  friends  of  our  father,  with 
my  foot  above  his  head,  I  express  my  willingness  to  be  on 
other  and  better  terms  with  you ;  and  if  we  can  not  com- 
mand love  in  our  hearts,  let  us,  at  least,  brother,  bar  out  all 
unkindness." 

9.  The  minister  who  had  attended  the  funeral,  and  had 
something  intrusted  to  him  to  say  publicly  before  he  left  the 
church-yard,  now  came  forward  and  asked  the  elder  brother 
why  he  spake  not  regarding  this  matter.  He  saw  that  there 
was  something  of  a  cold  and  sullen  pride  rising  up  in  his 
heart,  for  not  easily  may  any  man  hope  to  dismiss  from  the 


412  willson's  fifth  reader. 

chamber  of  his  heart  even  the  vilest  guest,  if  once  cherished 
there.  With  a  solemn  and  almost  severe  air  he  looked  upon 
the  relenting  man,  and  then,  changing  his  countenance  into 
serenity,  said  gently, 

*■'■  Behold,  how  good  a  thing  it  is, 
And  how  becoming  well, 
Together  such  as  brethren  are, 
In  unity  to  dwell !" 

10.  The  time,  the  place,  and  this  beautiful  expression  of  a 
natural  sentiment,  quite  overcame  a  heart  in  which  many 
kind,  if  not  warm  affections  dwelt ;  and  the  man  thus  appeal- 
ed to  bowed  down  his  head  and  wept.  •  "  Give  me  your  hand, 
brother ;"  and  it  was  given,  while  a  murmur  of  satisfaction 
arose  from  all  present,  and  all  hearts  felt  kindlier  and  more 
humanely  toward  each  other. 

11.  As  the  brothers  stood  fervently  but  composedly  grasp- 
ing each  other's  hand,  in  the  little  hollow  that  lay  between 
the  grave  of  their  mother,  long  since  dead,  and  of  their  father, 
whose  shroud  was  haply  not  yet  still  from  the  fall  of  dust  to 
dust,  the  minister  stood  beside  them  with  a  pleasant  counte- 
nance, and  said,  "  I  must  fulfill  the  promise  I  made  to  your 
father  on  his  death-bed.  I  must  read  to  you  a  few  words 
which  his  hand  wrote  at  an  hour  when  his  tongue  denied  its 
office.  I  must  not  say  that  you  did  your  duty  to  your  old 
father ;  for  did  he  not  often  beseech  you,  apart  from  one  an- 
other, to  be  reconciled,  for  your  own  sakes  as  Christians,  for 
his  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  mother  who  bare  you? 
"When  the  palsy  struck  him  for  the  last  time,  you  were  both 
absent ;  nor  was  it  your  fault  that  you  were  not  beside  the 
old  man  when  he  died. 

12.  "As  long  as  sense  continued  with  him  here,  did  he 
think  of  you  two,  and  of  you  two  alone.  Tears  were  in  his 
eyes ;  I  saw  them  there,  and  on  his  cheek  too,  when  no  breath 
came  from  his  lips.  But  of  this  no  nibre.  He  died  with  this 
paper  in  his  hand ;  and  he  made  me  know  that  I  was  to  read 
It  to  you  over  his  grave.  I  now  obey  him.  *  My  sons,  if  you 
will  let  my  bones  lie  quiet  in  the  grave,  near  the  dust  of  your 
mother,  depart  not  from  my  burial  till,  in  the  name  of  God 
and  Christ,  you  promise  to  love  one  another  as  you  used  to 
do.     Dear  boys,  receive  my  blessing.' " 

13.  Some  turned  their  heads  away  to  hide  the  tears  that 
needed  not  to  be  hiclden  ;  and  when  the  brothers  had  released 
each  other  from  a  long  and  sobbing  embrace,  many  went  up 
to  them,  and,  in  a  single  word  or  two,  expressed  their  joy  at 
this  perfect  reconcilement.    The  brothers  themselves  walked 


EIGHTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  413 

away  from  the  church-yard  arm  in  arm,  with  the  minister,  to 
the  manse.  On  the  following  Sabbath  they  were  seen  sitting 
with  their  families  in  the  same  pew,  and  it  was  observed  that 
they  read  together  off  the  same  Bible  when  the  minister  gave 
out  the  text,  and  that  they  sang  together,  taking  hold  of  the 
same  psalm-book.  The  same  psalm  was  sung  (given  out  at 
their  own  request),  of  which  one  verse  had  been  repeated  at 
their  father's  grave ;  a  larger  sum  than  usual  was  on  that 
Sabbath  found  in  the  jDlate  for  the  poor,  for  Love  and  Charity 
are  sisters.  And  ever  after,  both  during  the  peace  and  the 
troubles  of  this  life,  the  hearts  of  the  brothers  were  as  one, 
and  in  nothing  were  they  divided. 

John  Wilson  (Christopher  North). 


LESSON  III. 
I.  THE  SEASONS-  OF  LIFE. 

The  days  of  infancy  are  all  a  dream, 
How  fair,  but  oh !  how  short  they  seem — 
'Tis  Life's  sweet  opening  Spring. 

The  days  of  youth  adv,ance ; 

The  bounding  limb,  the  ardent  glance, 

The  kindling  soul  they  bring — 
It  is  Life's  burning  Summer  time. 

Manhood — matured  with  wisdom's  fruit, 
Keward  of  learning's  deep  pursuit — 
Succeeds,  *as  Autumn  follows  Summer's  prime. 

And  that,  and  that,  alas !  goes  by ; 
And  what  ensues  ?     The  languid  eye, 
The  failing  frame,  the  soul  o'ercast ; 
'Tis  Winter's  sickening,  withering  blast, 
Life's  blessed  season — for  it  is  the  last. — Southet. 

11.  SMALL  THINGS. 

A  sense  of  an  earnest  will 

To  help  the  lowly  living. 
And  a  terrible  heart-thrill, 

If  you  have  no  power  of  giving ; 
An  arm  of  aid  to  the  weak, 

A  friendly  hand  to  the  friendless ; 
Kind,  words,  so  short  to  speak. 

But  whose  echo  is  endless  : 
The  world  is  wide — these  things  are  small ; 
They  may  be  nothing — but  they  may  be  all. 


414  willson's  fifth  eeadek. 


III.  HOW  WE  SHOULD  LIVE. 

So  should  we  live,  that  every  hour 
May  die  as  dies  the  natural  flower, 
A  self-revolving  thing  of  power. 
That  every  thought  and  every  deed 
May  hold  within  itself  the  seed 
Of  future  good  and  future  need : 
Esteeming  sorrow,  whose  employ 
Is  to  develop,  not  destroy, 
Far  better  than  a  barren  joy. 

IV.  TO  MY  SON. 

My  son,  be  this  thy  simple  plan : 
Serve  God,  and  love  thy  brother  man ; 
Forget  not,  in  temptation's  hour, 
That  sin  lends  sorrow  double  power ; 
Count  life  a  stage  upon  thy  way. 
And  follow  Conscience,  come  what  may ; 
Alike  with  earth  and  heaven  sincere. 
With  hand,  and  brow,  and  bosom  clear, 
"Fear  Grod,  and  know  no  other  fear." 


LESSON   IV. THE   STREAM   OF   LIFE. 

1.  Life  bears  us  on  like  the  stream  of  a  mighty  river.  Our 
boat  at  first  glides  down  the  narrow  channel,  through  the 
playful  murmuring  of  the  little  brook  and  the  winding  of  its 
grassy  border.  The  trees  shed  their  blossoms  over  our  young 
heads,  the  flowers  on  the  brink  seem  to  oifer  themselves  to  our 
young  hands ;  we  are  happy  in  hope,  and  we  grasp  eagerly 
at  the  beauties  around  us ;  but  the  stream  hurries  on,  and 
still  our  hands  are  empty. 

2.  Our  course  in  youth  and  manhood  is  along  a  wider  and 
deeper  flood,  amid  objects  more  striking  and  magnificent. 
Wo  are  animated  by  the  moving  picture  of  enjoyment  and 
industry  passing  before  us;  we  are  excited  by  some  short- 
lived disappointment.  The  stream  bears  us  on,  and  our  joys 
and  our  griefs  are  alike  left  behind  us. 

3.  We  may  be  shipwrecked,  but  we  can  not  be  delayed ; 
whether  rough  or  smooth,  the  river  hastens  toward  its  home, 
till  the  roar  of  the  ocean  is  in  our  ears,  and  the  tossing  of  its 
waves  is  beneath  our  feet,  and  the  land  lessens  from  our  eyes, 
and  the  floods  arc  lifted  up  around  us,  and  we  take  our  leave 
of  earth  and  its  inhabitants,  until  of  our  farther  voyage  there 
is  no  witness  save  the  Infinite  and  Eternal. — Hkber. 


1st  DiV.  OF CHEMISTRY.  416 


PART  IX. 

FIEST  DIYISIOlSr  OF  CHEMISTRY. 

[This  subject  is  continued  in  the  Sixth  Reader.] 
LESSON    I. — INTEODUCTORY  VIEW. 

1.  There  are  three  great  divisions  of  the  science  of  na- 
ture, and  these  are  embraced  in  the  departments  of  Natural 
History,  Natural  Philosophy,  and  Chemistry.  Under  the 
first  are  included  zoology,  botany,  and  geology,  whose  prov- 
ince it  is  to'  describe  and  classify  all  material  things,  both 
animate  and  inanimate.  Natural  Philosophy,  taking  natural 
objects  as  thus  classified,  treats  of  their  general  and  perma- 
nent properties,  of  the  laws  which  govern  them,  and  the  re- 
ciprocal action  which,  without  chaiige  of  form  or  character^ 
and  generally  at  appreciable  distances,  they  are  capable  of 
exerting  upon  each  other. 

2.  Chemistry  advances  farther  in  her  investigations,  and 
with  scrutinizing  minuteness  leads  us  far  into  the  hidden 
mysteries  of  nature.  It  treats  of  the  intimate  action  of  sub- 
stances upon  each  other,  such  as  chemical  mixtures  or  com- 
binations, which  always  result  in  changes  of  form  and  char- 
acter. It  'presents  to  us,  as  a  first  lesson,  the  astonishing  fact 
that,  notwithstanding  the  countless  variety  of  forms  and 
properties  of  matter  which  nature  presents  to  us  as  things  es- 
sentially different,  only  about  sixty  elementary  substances 
are  known  to  exist,  and  that  it  is  merely  by  their  different 
combinations  that  they  are  made  to  present  to  our  senses 
these  infinite  diversities. 

3.  Proceeding  a  little  farther,  our  wonder  increases  on 
learning  that  nearly  all  the  objects  with  which  we  are  ac- 
quainted are,  to  use  a  common  phrase,  "  made  up"  almost  ex- 
clusively of  at  least  not  more  than  four  of  these  elementary 
substances,  and  that  these  are  the  three  gases,  oxygen,  hydro- 
gen, and  nitrogen,  together  Avith  carbon.  Indeed,  charcoal 
and  the  diamond,  though  totally  unlike  each  other,  are  com- 
posed of  carbon  alone.  Water  is  formed  of  oxygen  and 
hydrogen ;  the  air  we  breathe,  and  the  corrosive  nitric  acid, 
are  alike  composed  of  oxygen  and  nitrogen ;  vegetable  sub- 
stances, infinite  in  diversity  of  form  and  properties,  are  form- 
ed almost  wholly  of  oxygen,  hydrogen,  and  carbon ;  and  ani- 


416  willson's  fifth  READEK.  Part  IX. 

mal  substances  are  formed  chiefly  of  these  three  elements, 
with  the  addition  of  nitrogen.  So  largely  does  oxygen  enter 
into  combinations  with  other  elementary  substances,  that  one 
half  of  the  entire  globe  itself  is  said  to  be  formed  of  this  gas, 
or,  as  one  writer  has  expressed  it,  "  of  compressed  and  hard- 
ened air." 

4.  How  one  substance  can  assume  forms  and  properties  so 
different  as  charcoal  and  the  diamond,  or  how  two  or  more 
substances,  merely  by  different  combinations  of  them,  can 
produce  things  so  totally  unlike  as  common  air  and  nitric 
acid,  or  as  sugar  and  vinegar,  we  are  unable  to  conceive ;  but 
chemistry  teaches  us  the  facts,  and  leaves  us  to  ponder  over 
such  mysteries  in  wonder  and  admiration.  But  it  is  not 
merely  a  science  that  is  full  of  wonders ;  in  its  various  de- 
partments it  is  intimately  related  to  all  the  other  natural 
sciences,  and  it  forms  the  basis  of  all  the  useful  arts.  Thus, 
what  is  termed  Inorganic  Chemistry  treats  of  the  laws  of 
combination  by  which  are  formed  all  those  compound  bodies 
which  are  not  the  products  of  organized  life.  There  is  not  a 
single  manufacture  or  art,  from  the  smelting  of  ore  and  the 
making  of  bread,  to  the  manufacture  of  gunpowder  and  elec- 
tric telegraphing,  that  is  not  more  or  less  dependent  upon 
this  branch  of  chemistry. 

5.  In  what  is  called  Organic  Chemistry  we  trace  the  com- 
binations of  the  same  elementary  substances,  and  chiefly  the 
three  gases  and  carbon,  as  modified  by  the  principle  of  life ; 
and  thus  animal  and  vegetable  chemistry  are  recognized  as 
branches  of  one  greater  science.  In  Agricultural  Chemistry 
we  study  the  applications  of  chemistry  to  agriculture ;  and 
being  made  acquainted  with  the  chemical  ingredients  of 
plants  and  soils,  we  are  enabled  so  to  avail  ourselves  of  the 
laws  of  vegetable  grmvth  as  to  adapt  our  soils  to  the  nature 
of  the  product  required.  Indeed,  so  extensive  are  the  appli- 
cations of  chemical  principles,  that  they  enter,  in  some  mode 
or  form,  into  every  branch  of  industry,  and  every  department 
of  civilized  life. 


LESSON  II. — FIRST  principles:  ultimate  atoms. 

1.  When  a  stick  of  wood  is  burned  for  fuel,  it  is  destroyed 
as  a  stick  ofwood^  but  not  one  of  the  2Mrticles,  or,  more  prop- 
erly, atoms^  which  composed  it,  has  been  a7i7iihilated.  In  the 
ashos  of  the  wood,  and  in  the  atmosphere  in  which  it  was 


IstDlV.  OP CHEMISTRY.  417 

consumed,  every  atom  must  still  exist.  Some  of  these  atoms 
may  glisten  in  the  morning  dew,  crystallize  in  the  snow-flake, 
or  fall  to  the  waiting  fields  in  the  grateful  rain.  Other  atoms 
of  the  stick  of  wood  apparently  destroyed  may  appear  the 
next  year  in  some  stick  of  sugar-candy,  and  again,  ages 
hence,  may  constitute  a  little  but  important  part  of  some  vo- 
tive monument  of  marble.  Such  changes  are  not  only  possi- 
ble, but  probable.  ^ 

2.  When  by  the  wind  the  ti'ee  is  shaken, 

There's  not  a  bough  or  leaf  can  fall, 
But  of  its  falling  heed  is  taken 
By  One  that  sees  and  governs  all. 
8.  The  tree  may  fall  and  be  forgotten, 

And  buried  in  the  earth  remain  ; 
Yet  from  its  juices  rank  and  rotten 
Springs  vegetating  life  again. 
4  The  world  is  with  creation  teeming, 

And  nothing  ever  loholly  dies; 
And  things  that  are  destroyed  in  seeming, 
In  other  shapes  and  forms  arise. 

5.  And  Nature  still  unfolds  the  tissue 

Of  unseen  works  by  spirit  wrought ; 
And  not  a  work  but  hath  its  issue 

With  blessing  or  with  evil  fraught Kennedy. 

6.  The  journey  of  an  atom  in  its  ceaseless  round  would  be 
even  more  wonderful  than  the  adventures  of  a  drop  of  water 
— now  in  the  ocean,  next  in  the  rainbow,  then  a  part  of  an 
iceberg,  and  again  on  its  way  to  the  purple  cloud.  The  ocean 
has  been  in  the  clouds — perhaps  many  times ;  and  yet,  in  all 
its  changes,  not  a  particle  has  been  lost. 

7.  "  Nothing  is  lost :  the  drop  of  dew 

Which  trembles  on  the  leaf  or  flower, 
la  but  exhaled  to  fall  anew 

In  summer's  thunder-shower; 
Perchance  to  shine  within  tlie  bow 

That  fronts  the  sun  at  fall  of  day, 
Perchance  to  sparkle  in  the  flow 

Of  fountains  far  away." 

8.  The  plant  is  made  of  the  mineral,  and  the  animal  con- 
sumes the  plant  and  returns  to  the  earth,  again  to  enter  into 
new  combinations.   jSha/cspeare  says, 

"  Imperious  Caesar,  dead,  and  turn'd  to  clay, 
Might  stop  a  hole,  to  keep  the  wind  away ;       • 
Oh  that  the  earth,  which  kept  the  world  in  awe. 
Should  patch  a  wall  to  expel  the  winter's  flaw  1" 

9.  Another  has  expressed  the  same  truth  in  the  following 
words :  *'  Man,  moving  to-day  the  monarch  of  a  mighty  peo- 
ple, in  a  few  years  passes  back  to  his  primitive  clod,  and  that 
combination  of  elementary  atoms  which  is  dignified  with  the 
circle  of  sovereignty  and  the  robe  of  purple,  after  a  period 
may  be  sought  for  in  the  herbage  of  the  fields  and  in  the 
humble  flowers  of  the  valley." — Hunt. 

c>  2 


418  willson's  fifth  EEADEB.  Part  IX. 

10.  We  live  in  a  world  of  change.  The  growth  and  com- 
position of  organic  matter,  the  rusting  of  metals,  the  crum- 
bling of  rocks,  and  the  combustion  of  fuel,  afford  innumerable 
illustrations  of  this  truth.  Nothing  is  at  rest — nothing  is 
permanent ;  and  yet,  in  all  the  changes  which  matter  has  un- 
dergone, from  creation's  dawn  to  the  present  time,  we  have 
no  reason  for  believing  that  the  minutest  atom  has  been  de- 
stroyed. Let  not  man,  t^en,  contemn  the  atom  which  he 
could  not  create,  and  which  he  has  not  the  power  to  destroy. 


LESSON   III. — THE  MAN  AND  THE   ATOM. 

1.  "  Small  atom,  unconsidered, 

Unfelt,  and  scarcely  seen ! 
Thou  hast  no  worth  upon  the  earth — 
So  infinitely  mean. 

2.  "  Useless  thou  art,  oh  atom^ ! 

And,  absolute  in  might', 

If  I  decree  thou  shalt  not  be', 

I  can  destroy  thee  quite. " 

3.  "Ah!  no;  thy  hand  is  powerless. 

I  hold  a  life  too  high  ; 
A  strength  innate,  as  old  as  fate ; 
I  change,  but  can  not  die. 

4.  "Destruction  can  not  touch  me; 

The  hand  alone  which  wrought 
My  shape  and  thine — a  hand  divine — 
Can  hurl  me  into  naught. 

6.  "  Thou  mayst  on  waters  cast  me, 

Or  loose  me  to  the  wind, 
Or  burn  in  fire,  at  thy  desire, 

So  that  thou  canst  not  find ; 
C.   "  But  I  shall  hold  existence 

To  earth's  remotest  time, 
And  fill  in  space  my  destined  place, 

Though  humble,  yet  sublime. 

7.  "Ere  yet  offending  Adam      • 

Fell  from  his  pure  estate. 
Or  tended  flowers  in  Eden's  bowers, 
With  Eve,  his  happy  mate' ; 

8.  "7,  even  7,  existed, 

And  played  my  proper  part 
In  God's  great  plan — oh,  little  man. 
Reflect  on  what  thou  art  1 

9.  "Couldst  thou  destroy  my  being'. 

Thy  hand  might  reach  the  spheres^ 
And  bid  the  sun  no  longer  run 
His  course  among  his  peers. 


IstDlV.  OF CHEMISTRY.  419 

10.   "  Be  liumble\  brother  atom' ; 
Whate'er  thy  mortal  growth 
Or  mine  may  be,  humility 

Alone  becomes  us  both." — C.  Mackat. 


LES.  IV. — CHEMICAL   AGENTS  I    HEAT LIGHT ELECTRICITY. 

1.  The  number  of  substances  not  known  to  be  compounds 
is  upward  of  sixty ;  the  names  of  which,  the  symbols  by  which 
they  are  designated  in  chemical  books,  and  their  combining 
proportions,  are  given  in  a  note  at  the  bottom  of  page  426. 
Nearly  half  of  these  elements^  as  they  are  called,  are  of  rare 
occurrence,  and  not  more  than  twenty  of  them  are  of  much 
interest  to  any  but  the  professed  chemist.  It  is  with  these 
elements,  which  make  up  the  whole  material  world,  that  chem- 
istry deals ;  and  its  province  is  to  point  out  and  explain  the 
agencies  or  active  forces  employed  in  effecting  changes  among 
them,  the  laws  under  which  these  changes  are  made,  the  prop- 
erties of  the  elements  and  of  their  compounds,  and,  finally, 
the  applications  of  the  science  to  arts,  manufactures,  and  ag- 
riculture. The  latter  division  of  the  subject,  although  of  ex- 
ceeding interest  and  importance,  must  be  reserved  for  the 
Sixth  Reader. 

2.  The  active  forces  of  chemistry  are  1iea%  lights  and  elec- 
tricity. By  their  separate  or  combined  action  the  elements 
of  matter  are  caused  to  unite,  and  sometimes  compounds  are 
decomposed  into  their  original  constituents,  and  new  sub- 
stances are  formed. 

3.  Let  us  first  glance  at  some  of  the  chemical  effects  of 
heat.  The  matters  of  every-day  life  will  furnish  us  abundant 
examples.  Lead  is  one  of  the  elementary  substances.  And 
who  has  not  observed  that  when  lead  is  melted,  a  scum  or 
dross  covers  the  surface,  and  that  if  it  be  kept  long  in  a  melt- 
ed state  it  will  disappear  as  metallic  lead,  and  become  dross 
altogether  ?  But  what  has  become  of  the  lead  ?  The  heat 
has  caused  it  to  unite  with  a  portion  of  the  oxygen  from  the 
air,  and  form  this  dross ;  and  if  the  heating  process  be  con- 
tinued long  enough,  the  dross  will  unite  with  more  oxygen 
and  become  red  lead.,  a  substance  used  in  painting.  The 
manufacture  of  this  important  article  of  commerce  is  merely 
an  application  of  the  chemical  principle  here  illustrated — the 
combination  of  oxygen  with  common  lead. 

4.  The  red  rust  on  iron  nails  and  bolts  found  among  the 
ruins  of  burned  buildincrs  shows  that  heat  facilitates  the  com- 


420  willson's  fifth  header.  FaBX  IX. 

bination  of  iron  and  ogygen.  It  is  frequently  the  case  that 
one  degree  of  heat  will  cause  oxygen  to  unite  with  a  metal, 
while  a  higher  degree  will  cause  a  separation.  It  is  the  tend- 
ency of  heat,  moreover,  to  separate,  in  a  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, the  particles  or  atoms  of  which  a  body  is  composed, 
and  thus  to  enlarge  its  bulk  so  long  as  the  force  of  heat  is  ex- 
erted. Advantage  is  taken  of  this  expansive  property  in  liq- 
uids in  the  construction  of  thermometers. 

5.  Light  is  another  important  chemical  agent  often  associ- 
ated with  heat.  But  they  may  be  separated  from  each  other; 
and  it  can  be  proved  that  there  is  no  correspondence  between 
intense  light  and  ardent  heat.    Milton  says,  addressing  Light : 

''  Before  the  sun, 
Before  the  heavens  thou  wert,  and  at  the  voice 
Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle,  didst  invest 
The  rising  world  of  waters  dark  and  deep. 
Won  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite." 

6.  As  the  cause  of  color,  as  the  medium  of  vision,  and  as 
an  agency  influencing  in  a  most  striking  manner  all  the  forms 
of  organization,  and  even  affecting  the  crystallization  of  inor- 
ganic matter,  light  has  always  presented  to  inquiring  minds 
a  subject  of  the  highest  interest.  Light  paints  the  blush  on 
the  luscious  peach,  and  spreads  the  "  tender  green"  over  the 
leaves  of  the  forest  and  the  grass  of  the  meadows.  The  very 
shells  of  the  ocean  are  almost  colorless  when  taken  from  greaf 
depths,  where  the  action  of  light  is  but  feeble. 

7.  We  see,  daily,  numberless  instances  of  the  chemical  ef- 
fects of  light.  In  the  sunshine  some  colors  fade,  and  others 
become  more  intense.  Many  vegetables  can  be  kept  better 
in  places  deprived  of  light,  and  certain  medicines  must  be 
kept  in  black  bottles,  or  be  otherwise  protected  from  solar  in- 
fluence. Daguerreotypes  and  photographs  are  made  by  the 
chemical  action  of  light  on  certain  preparations  of  silver,  or 
other  substances  very  sensitive  to  its  influences. 

8.  A  mixture  of  two  gaseous  elements,  chlorine  and  hydro- 
gen^ may  be  made  in  the  dark,  without  exhibiting  any  tend- 
ency to  unite ;  but  if  the  bottle  containing  them  be  exposed 
to  the  sunlight,  a  violent  explosion  ensues,  and  a  compound 
is  formed,  which  is  called  hydrochloric  acid. 

9.  Not  only  is  light  an  indispensable  agent  in  the  growth 
of  vegetables,  but  it  is  necessary  to  the  proper  development 
of  animal  life.  How  sensitive  are  our  bodies  to  its  influences ! 
How  our  feelings  sympathize  with  every  change  of  the  sky ! 
When  the  sun  shines,  the  blood  flows  freely,  and  our  spirits 
nre  liHit  and  bnovant.     Professor  Johnston  has  said,  in  his 


1st  Div.OF CHEMISTEY.  421 

"  Chemistry  of  Common  Life,"  that  "  the  energy  is  great- 
er, and  the  body  is  actually  stronger  in  a  bright  than  in  a 
cloudy  day."  There  is  science  as  well  as  poetry  in  the  fol- 
lowiDg  address 

TO  THE  SUNBEAM. 

10.  Thou  art  no  lingerer  in  monarch's  hall ; 
A  joy  thou  art,  and  a  wealth  to  all ! 

A  bearer  of  hope  upon  land  and  sea — 
Sunbeam !  what  gift  hath  the  world  like  thee  ? 

11.  Thou  art  walking  the  billows,  and  ocean  smiles — . 
Thou  hast  touched  with  glory  his  thousand  isles — 
Thou  hast  lit  up  the  ships  and  the  feathery  foam, 
And  gladdened  the  sailor  like  words  from  home. 

18.  To  the  solemn  depths  of  the  forest  shades, 

Thou  art  streaming  on  through  their  green  arcades ; 

And  the  quivering  leaves  that  have  caught  thy  glow, 

Like  fire-flies  glance  to  the  pools  below. 
18.  I  looked  on  the  mountains — a  vapor  lay, 

Folding  their  heights  in  its  dark  array ; 

Thou  brokest  forth — and  the  mist  became 

A  crown  and  a  mantle  of  living  flama 
14.  I  looked  on  the  peasant's  lowly  cot — 

Something  of  sadness  had  wrapped  the  spot ; 

But  the  gleam  of  thee  on  its  casement  fell, 

And  it  laughed  into  beauty  at  that  bright  spell. 
16.  To  the  earth's  wild  places  a  guest  thou  art, 

Flushing  the  waste  like  the  rose's  heart ; 

And  thou  scomest  not  from  thy  pomp  to  shed 

A  tender  light  on  the  ruin's  head. 
16.  Thou  tak'st  through  the  dim  church  aisles  thy  way. 

And  its  pillars  from  twilight  flash  forth  to  day ; 

And  its  high  pale  tombs,  with  their  trophies  old. 

Are  bathed  in  a  flood  as  of  burning  gold. 

IT.  And  thou  turn'st  not  from  the  humblest  grave, 

"Where  a  flower  to  the  sighing  winds  may  wave ; 

Thou  scatterest  its  gloom  like  the  gleams  of  rest. 

Thou  sleepest  in  love  on  its  grassy  breast. 
18L  Sunbeam  of  summer !  oh,  what  is  like  thee  ? 

Hope  of  the  wilderness,  joy  of  the  sea  1 

One  thing  is  like  thee,  to  mortals  given— 

The  Faith,  touching  ftll  things  with  hues  of  heaven Mrs.  Hemans. 

19.  In  striking  contrast  with  the  cheering  and  enlivening 
influences  of  the  glorious  sun  is  the  scene  presented  by  the 
dissolution  and  gloom  described  in  Byron's  Dream  of  Dark- 
ness^ in  which  "  the  bright  sun  was  extinguished." 

20.  "  The  world  was  void, 

The  populous  and  the  powerful  was  a  lump, 
Seasonless,  herbless,  treeless,  manless,  lifeless — 
A  lump  of  death — a  chaos  of  hard  clay. 
The  rivers,  lakes,  and  ocean,  all  stood  still. 
And  nothing  stirred  within  their  silent  depths ; 
Ships,  sailorless,  lay  rotting  on  the  sea, 
And  their  masts  fell  down  piecemeal ;  as  they  dropped. 
They  slept  on  the  abyss  without  a  surge — 
The  waves  were  dead  ;  the  tides  were  in  their  grave ; 
The  moon,  their  mistress,  had  expired  before  ; 
The  winds  were  withered  in  the  stagnant  air, 
And  the  clouds  perished;  Darkness  had  no  need 
Of  aid  from  them — she  was  the  universe." 


422  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pabt  IX. 


LESSON   V. — CHEMICAL  AGENTS   CONTINTJED. 
ELECTRICITY. 

1.  When  certain  substances,  such  as  glass,  amber,  and 
sealing-wax,  are  rubbed  with  dry  silk  or  cloth,  they  acquire 
a  power  of  first  attracting  bits  of  paper  and  other  light  sub- 
stances, and  afterward  of  repelling  them.  The  same  power 
manifests  itself,  only  in  a  different  way,  in  the  thunder-cloud 
when  it  shakes  the  earth  with  its  explosions;  it  resides, 
though  often  silent,  unfelt,  and  unseen,  in  every  particle  of 
air,  in  every  drop  of  water,  and  in  the  solid  earth ;  directing 
the  needle  to  the  pole,  it  guides  the  mariner  in  his  course ; 
and  modern  science  has  trained  it  to  transmit  intelligence, 
literally,  with  "  lightning  speed." 

2.  In  the  great  laboratory  of  nature  this  power  is  doubtless 
the  chief  agent  by  which  chemical  changes  are  wrought ;  and 
in  "  earth's  hidden  chambers"  it  is  believed  to  be  constantly 
in  operation,  separating  compounds,  and  from  their  elements 
forming  new  combinations.  Modern  science  has  learned  to 
imitate,  though  on  a  feeble  scale,  some  of  its  wonders ;  and 
although  it  has  not  discovered  the  long-sought  "  philosopher's 
stone,"  which  was  supposed  to  be  able  to  transmute  the  baser 
metals  into  gold,  it  has,  nevertheless,  in  the  development 
which  it  has  given  to  the  useful  arts,  done  a  better  service  to 
mankind  than  the  older  alchemists  ever  dreamed  of. 

3.  The  question,  "What  is  electricity?"  is  more  easily 
asked  than  answered ;  but  we  see  its  effects  all  around  us, 
and  can  tell  what  it  does.  A  flash  of  lightning  is  an  electric- 
al phenomenon ;  and  on  a  small  scale  we  imitate  it  when,  in 
a  dry,  cold  atmosphere,  and  in  the  dark,  we  produce  sparks 
of  light  by  briskly  rubbing  a  strip  of  paper  with  India-rub- 
ber, glass  with  a  dry  cloth,  or,  in  the  perhaps  more  familiar 
experiment,  by  rubbing  the  hair  on  a  cat's  back.  By  tlie  aid 
of  a  powerful  electrical  machine  we  may  collect  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  this  "  electric  fluid"  to  kill  a  man  by  its  explosion. 

4.  By  the  aid  of  this  same  "  fluid"  we  may  also  decompose 
water,  resolving  it  into  its  two  elements,  oxygen  and  hydro- 
gen ;  and  again,  if  these  two  constituents  be  collected  and 
mixed  in  a  suitable  glass  vessel,  and  a  spark  of  electricity  be 
passed  through  them,  they  Avill  combine  toith  explosive  force^ 
and  form  the  original  quantity  of  water. 

6.  Yet  most  frequently  electrical  j)]ienomena  arc  silent  op- 


1st  DiV.  OF CHEMISTRY.  423 

erations,  caused  by  means  that  can  be  detected  only  by  care- 
ful scrutiny.     A  tree  or  dwelling  may  be  shivered  when 

"•  From  cloud  to  cloud  the  rending  lightnings  rage;" 

but  the  great  work  of  electricity  is  performed  in 

"The  stilly  hour,  when  stonns  are  gone, 
When  warring  winds  have  died  away. 
And  clouds,  beneath  the  dancing  ray, 
Melt  off  and  leave  the  land  and  sea 
Sleeping  in  bright  tranquillity." 

It  is  chiefly  in  the  form  of  what  is  called  galvanism  that  the 
quiet  but  mighty  operations  of  this  |fewer  are  carried  on,  as 
may  be  illustrated  by  the  following  experiment. 

6.  If  we  place  a  piece  of  zinc  in  dilute  sulphuric  acid,  and 
extend  a  metallic  wire  from  the  dissolving  zinc  to  a  similar 
piece  of  copper,  also  immersed  in  the  dilute  acid,  we  form 
what  is  called  a  simple  galvanic  battery^  and  a  faint  electric 
spark  may  be  seen  whenever  the  contact  of  the  wire  with  the 
copper  is  broken  or  closed.  A  current  of  what  is  called  gal- 
vanic electricity^  silent  and  unseen,  may  thus  be  created  and 
be  made  to  pass  through  the  liquid ;  and  by  it  gold,  silver, 
and  copper,  dissolved  in  suitable  acids,  may  be  taken  from 
the  solution  and  deposited  in  a  pure  state,  in  a  thin  film  or 
coating,  on  the  surface  of  other  metals — a  process  which  is 
called  by  different  names,  as  galvanizing,  electro-plating,  and 
electrotyping. 

7.  Such  electrical  currents  are  known  to  be  in  constant  ac- 
tion beneath  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  even  far  down 
among  the  rocky  strata ;  and  it  is  probably  by  this  quiet  elec- 
tric power,  in  connection  with  heat,  that  the  mineral  wealth 
of  the  earth — its  gold,  its  silver,  its  iron,  its  crystals,  its  pre- 
cious stones,  and  all  the  infinite  variety  of  inorganic  combina- 
tions of  elementary  substances — has  been  formed. 

8.  Thus  electricity  is  found,  in  conjunction  with  heat  or 
light,  and  sometimes  with  both,  to  be  an  all-pervading  agent, 
assuming  various  forms  and  modes  of  action ;  but  whether  it 
is  a  material  substance  or  not  we  can  not  tell..  Like  heat 
and  light,  it  is  called  an  imponderable  agent,  because,  how- 
ever much  of  it  may  be  collected,  it  has  no  appreciable  weight, 
and,  like  them,  it  is  known  only  by  its  effects. 

9.  "  That  power  which,  like  a  potent  spirit,  guides  ;* 

The  sea-side  wanderers  over  distant  tides. 
Inspiring  confidence  where'er  they  roam. 
By  indicating  still  the  pathway  home ; 
Through  nature,  quicken' d  by  the  solar  beam, 
Invests  each  atom  with  a  force  supreme, 
Dii-ects  the  cavern' d  ciystal  in  its  birth. 
And  frames  the  mightiest  mountains  of  the  earth, 
Each  leaf  and  flower  by  its  strong  law  restrains, 
And  man,  the  monarch,  binds  in  iron  chains." 


424  WILLSON's  fifth   reader.  Paut   IX. 


LESSON"   VI. — THE  ELECTRIC  TELEGRAPH. 

1.  The  greatest  of  modern  inventions,  next  to  the  applica- 
tion of  steam  to  the  propulsion  of  machinery,  is  the  applica- 
tion of  galvanic  electricity  to  the  transmission  of  thought  by 
means  of  the  electric  telegraph.  An  extensive  series  of  the 
simple  galvanic  batteries  before  described  may  be  made  to 
produce  effects  so  po^swerful,  that  metals  which  can  not  be 
fused  at  any  furnace  heat  are  readily  melted  by  it ;  and  by 
causing  the  electric  current  to  pass  repeatedly  around  a  bar 
of  iron  or  steel,  the  most  powerful  magnets  are  formed. 

2.  When  the  bar  is  of  soft  iron,  it  loses  its  magnetism  as 
soon  as  the  electric  current  is  stopped ;  and  by  an  ingenious 
contrivance,  an  instrument  has  been  made  by  which  the  power 
of  the  soft  iron  magnet  can  be  created  and  destroyed  instan- 
taneously any  number  of  times  in  succession.  Advantage  is 
taken  of  this  to  work  a  needle  which  prints  marks  upon  paper 
at  the  will  of  the  operator.  These  marks,  which  are  formed 
into  an  alphabet,  the  operator  uses  to  spell  out  the  words 
which  he  wishes  to  write.  As  the  electric  current  may  be 
made  to  pass  through  a  wire  thousands  of  miles  in  extent, 
an  operator  at  one  extremity  of  the  Avire  can  direct  the  mo- 
tions of  the  needle  at  the  other,  and  thus  thought  may  be 
transmitted  with  lightning  speed  wherever  the  "wonder- 
working wire"  can  be  extended.  The  transmission  of  thought 
in  this  way  is  indeed  swifter  than  lights  for  the  electric  fluid 
flashes  over  the  wire  at  the  amazing  rate  of  more  than  two 
hundred  and  eighty  thousand  miles  in  a  second  of  time ! 

8.  Hark !  the  warning  needles  click. 

Hither — thither  -clear  and  quick. 
He  who  guides  their  npeaking  play 
Stands  a  thousand  miles  away  I 
*  Here  we  feel  the  electric  thrill 

Guided  by  his  simple  will ; 
Here  the  instant  message  read, 
Brought  with  more  than  lightning  speed. 

Sing^ho  will  of  Orphean  lyre. 
Ours    the  wonder-working  wire! 
4  I>et  the  sky  be  dark  or  clear, 

Comes  the  faithful  messenger; 
Now  it  tells  of  loss  and  grief, 
Now  of  joy  in  sentence  brief, 
,  Now  of  safe  or  sunken  ships. 

Now  the  murderer  outstrips, 
Now  of  war  and  fields  of  blood, 
Now  of  fire,  and  now  of  flood. 

Sing  who  will  of  Orphean  lyre, 
Ours    the  wonder-working  wire  I 
R  Think  the  thought,  and  speak  the  word, 

It  ii  caught  ax  soon  as  heard. 


1st  DlV.  OF CHEMISTRY.  425 

Bome  o'er  mountains,  lakes,  and  seas, 

To  the  far  antip'odes  ; 

Boston  speaks  at  twelve  o'clock, 

Natchez  reads  ere  noon  the  shock : 

Seems  it  not  a  feat  sublime  ? 

Intellect  baa  conquered  time ! 

Sing_\vho  will  of  Orphean  lyre, 
Ours   the  wonder-working  wire ! 
flL  Marvel !  triumph  of  our  day, 

Flash  all  ignorance  away ! 

Flash  sincerity  of  speech — 

Noblest  aims  to  all  who  teach  ; 

Flash  till  power  shall  learn  the  right. 

Flash  till  leasou  conquer  might ; 

Flash  resolve  to  every  mind — 

Manhood  flash  to  all  mankind ! 

Sing  who  will  of  Orphean  lyre, 

Ours   the  wonder-working  vrire I— Anonymous. 


LESSON"   VII. CHEMICAL   AFFINITIES. 

1.  Among  all  the  wonders  of  the  material  world,  there  are 
none  greater  than  those  which  are  exhibited  in  the  likings, 
or  affinities^  which  the  different  elementary  particles  or  atoms 
show  for  each  other.  Each  readily  forms  an  intimate  union 
with  some,  while  it  repels  others  as  if  disdaining  any  rela- 
tionship ;  and,  moreover,  where  two  kinds  of  matter  show  an 
affinity  or  congeniality,  they  will  unite  in  certain  definite  pro- 
portions, and  in  no  other. 

2.  Let  us  begin  with  that  all-abundant  element  oxygen, 
and  exhibit  some  of  its  affinities  for  other  elements,  which 
are  so  strong  that  it  is  never  found  by  itself,  unless  under 
compulsion.  It  is  the  only  element  which  is  capable  of  uni- 
ting with  all  others,  with  perhaps  a  single  exception.  In 
forming  water,  just  eight  parts  of  oxygen  by  weight  unite 
with  07ie  part  of  hydrogen,  and  in  no  other  proportions  will 
they  form  water.  Yet  eight  additional  parts  of  oxygen,  that 
is,  sixteen  parts,  will  unite  with  one  of  hydrogen,  but  the 
compound  is  a  bitter,  disagreeable  liquid. 

3.  Oxygen  will  unite  with  nitrogen  in  the  proportion  of 
eight  parts  of  oxygen  to  fourteen  of  nitrogen,  and  with  car- 
bon in  the  proportion  of  eight  parts  of  oxygen  to  six  of  car- 
bon. We  have  thus  given  the  most  simple  combining  pro- 
portions of  these  four  elementary  substances,  that  of  hydro- 
gen being  taken  as  the  standard ;  and  it  is  found  that,  with 
whatever  elements  they  combine,  they  never  vary  from  these 
proportions,  or  multiples  of  these.  Thus  the  combining  pro- 
portions of  oxygen  are  always  8, 16,  24,  32,  40,  or  some  high- 
er multiple  of  8 ;  and  the  combining  proportions  of  carbon  are 
6, 12, 1 8, 24,  30,  or  some  higher  multiple  of  6.     A  similar  prin- 


426 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


Part  EX. 


ciple  is  found  to  apply  to  ail  other  elementary  substances, 
each  having  its  combining  proportion,  or  chemical  equiva- 
lent^ from  which,  or  some  multiple  of  which,  it  never  varies.* 
4.  As  we  can  form  no  conception  of  the  number  of  combi- 
nations that  may  arise  from  sixty-one  elements,  so  we  can 
form  no  estimate  of  the  number  of  different  compounds  to 
which  their  union  may  give  rise ;  for  we  must  remember  that 
a  difference  in  the  proportions  of  the  elements — and  some- 
times a  mere  difference  in  the  arrangement — may  constitute 
very  different  things.  An  instance  of  this  is  seen  in  the  com- 
position of  vinegar^  sugar ^  alcohol^  and  starchy  neither  one  of 
which  contains  any  element  not  in  the  others. 


LESSON  VIII.  —  LEADING  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  FOUR 
PRINCIPAL  elements:  OXYGEN  —  HYDROGEN  —  CARBON  — 
NITROGEN. 

FouB  elements  in  one  firm  band 

Give  form  to  life,  build  sea  and  land.— Schilleb. 

1.  The  leading  characteristics  of  oxygen  are,  that  it  is  the 
supporter  of  combustion — as  fire  will  not  burn  without  its 
presence — and  it  is  also  the  life-sustaining  element  in  the  air 
we  breathe.  When  a  piece  of  charcoal,  which  is  pure  car- 
bon, is  burned  in  the  open  air,  the  combustion  consists  in  the 
union  of  the  carbon  of  the  charcoal  with  the  oxygen  of  the 

*  The  following  table  comprises  a  list  of  all  the  elementary  substances  now  known,  the 
Bynibola  by  which  they  are  designated  in  chemical  books,  and  the  eijuivalcnts,  or  parts  &y 
iveifiht^  in  which  they  unite  to  form  compounds.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  equiv- 
alent numbers  express  nothing  but  the  relative  weights  in  which  the  elements  unite  witli 
each  other.  Hydrogen  is  here  taken  as  the  standard,  to  which  all  the  others  are  referred. 
The  names  of  those  which  are  comparatively  unimportant  are  printed  in  italics. 


Non-metnllic 
KltMiionta. 

Oxygen 

Hydrogen 

Nitrogen 

Carbon  

Sulphur. 

rhosphoruB 

Chlorine 

Bromine 

Iodine  

Fluorine 

Horon 

Silicon 

St'lrnium 

MoUIIic  Rlements. 

Aluminium 

Antimony 

Arsenic 

J'.uriiim 

Hif^nuith 

Ciulmium 


Equiv 

8.00 

1.00 

14.00 

6.00 

16.  (X) 

31.00 

35.50 

80.00 

127.00 

10.00 

10.00 

21.00 

40.00 

18.7r 
122.0(t 

75.00 

08.50 
214.00 

56.00 


Metallic  Elements. 

Calcium 

Cerium 

Chromium 

Cobalt 

Columbium 

Clopper 

Didi/mium 

Erbium 

(ihtdnuvn. 

Gold 

Iridium 

Iron 

Lanthanum..... 

l^ad 

Lithiuvi , 

Magnesiara  .. .., 

Miinganose 

Mercury , 

Moliihdt'num  . . . 

Nickel 

Siobiuvi 


Equiv. ||   Metallic  Element*. 

20.00  LVonwH 

47.mV 
26.70; 
20.60 
68.801 
31.70 
48.00 


4.70: 


Osmittm , 

Palladium , 

Platinum , 

Pota-ssium , 

Rhodium 

Ruthenium  ..... 

Silver , 

Sodium ; 

197.00!  Strontium 

m.W}TcUuri%tm 

2S.m\rerhium 

47.0ol7'/ionMm 

103.50  Tin 

7.00  Titanium 

12  50  Tungsten 

27.50  I'ranium 

100.00;  Pa  mi(f  mm , 

4S.00i  r«num ;.. 

29.50  ;Zinc 

\\Zirconiuvi 


Sym. 

EquiT. 

No. 

OS. 

99.60 

Pd. 

53.80 

Pt 

98.70 

K. 

89.20 

Rh. 

52.20 

Ru. 

52.20 

Ag. 

108.00 

Na. 

23.00 

Sr. 

43.75 

Te. 

M.0O 

Tb. 

Th. 

59.60 

Sn. 

59.00 

TL 

26.00 

w. 

92.00 

IT. 

60.00 

V. 

68.60 

Y. 

Zn. 

89.75 

Zr. 

22.40 

1st  DiV.  OF CHEMISTRY.  427 

air,  forming  the  compound,  carbonic  acid.  When  wood  is 
burned,  the  process  and  result  are  the  same,  with  the  excep- 
tion that  the  wood  is  not  wholly  carbon,  and  the  other  ingre- 
dients appear  during  the  combustion  in  the  form  of  smoke 
and  ashes.  The  rusting  of  metals  is  a  slow  combustion,  term- 
ed oxidation;  and  whenever  oxygen  unites  with  any  other 
element,  some  degree  of  heat  is  evolved  in  the  process. 

2.  Iron  and  steel,  and  other  metals,  will  burn  with  exceed- 
ing brilliancy  in  oxygen  gas ;  and,  what  is  more  strange,  the 
most  intense  heat  known  is  produced  by  burning  oxygen  and 
hydrogen  in  the  proportions  which  form  water.*  Although 
no  two  things  in  nature  are  more  opposite  in  character  than 
fire  and  water,  yet  in  this  burning  process  the  water  is  the 
product  of  the  fire !  Oxygen  is  heavier  than  common  air, 
and  may  be  poured  from  one  vessel  into  another;  yet  it  is 
invisible,  inodorous,  and  tasteless,  and  can  be  detected  only 
by  its  effects  upon  other  bodies. 

3.  "  As  a  candle  burns  in  oxygen  gas  with  much  greater  brilliancy  and 
rapidity  than  in  common  air,  so  animals  breathe  in  it  with  an  increase  of 
pleasure ;  but  it  excites  them,  quickens  their  circulation,  throws  them  into 
a  state  of  fever,  and  finally  kills  them  by  excess  of  excitement.  They  live 
too  rapidly  in  pure  oxygen  gas,  and  burn  away  in  it  like  the  fast-flaring 
candle. " — Johnston. 

4.  Hydrogen  is  the  lightest  and  most  attenuated  form  of 
matter  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  being  fourteen  and  a 
half  times  lighter  than  common  air ;  hence  it  is  the  most  suit- 
able gas  for  inflating  balloons.  Though  forming  two  thirds 
of  the  bulk  of  water  and  one  ninth  of  its  weight,  it  is  highly 
inflammable  when  brought  in  contact  with  the  oxygen  of  the 
atmosphere.  Hence,  when  it  is  found,  as  often  happens,  in 
coal-mines,  united  with  carbon  from  the  coal  and  with  oxy- 
gen, the  mixture  which  is  known  as  fire-damp  is  highly  dan- 
gerous to  life,  as  it  is  liable  to  violent  explosions  when  lighted 
by  accident.  Moreover,  those  who  escape  the  fire  are  liable 
to  be  suffocated  by  the  carbonic  acid  which  it  produces. 

5.  The  danger  ivovo.  fire-damp^  however,  has  been  in  great 
part  removed  by  the  miners'  "  safety  lamp,"  invented  by  Sir 
Humphrey  Davy.  ^Jle  found  that  the  flame  of  a  lamp  would 
•not  ignite  bodies  through  a  fine  wire  gauze ;  and  by  inclos- 
ing the  miners'  lamp  within  this  cheap  material,  he  was  en- 
abled both  to  indicate,  by  its  waning  light,  the  presence  of  a 
gas  which  is  fatal  to  life  if  long  respired,  and  also  to  guard 

*  The  arrangement  for  burning  oxygen  and  hydrogen  for  the  purpose  of  fusing  metals, 
melting  glass,  etc. ,  ia  called  the  oxyhydrogcn  blowpipe. 


428  willson's  fifth  keadek.  Part  IX. 

against  the  dreadful  effects  of  an  explosion.    Thousands  may 
attribute  their  safety  to 

"  That  lamp's  metallic  gauze, 
That  curtain  of  protecting  wire, 
Which  Davy  delicately  draws 
Around  explosive,  dangerous  fire." 

6.  As  intense  heat  may  cause  the  decomposition  of  water, 
and  set  free  both  the  inflammable  hydrogen  and  the  oxygen 
which  it  contains,  so,  when  water  is  thrown  on  a  burning 
building  in  such  quantity  as  not  to  quench  the  fire,  it  may 
add  fuel  to  the  flames.  "  Setting  the  river  on  fire"  is  by  no 
means  an  impossibility,  although  it  would  not  prove  a  very 
economical  fuel. 

1.  Carbon,  found  in  a  solid  state  in  charcoal  and  in  the  dia- 
mond, and  in  crystallized  form  in  the  latter,  unites  readily 
with  oxygen  to  form  carbonic  acid.  With  hydrogen  it  unites 
to  form  a  numerous  class  of  compounds.  It  also  forms  near- 
ly one  half  of  the  solid  parts  of  all  plants ;  and  hence,  in  the 
economy  of  vegetation,  it  performs  a  most  important  part. 

8.  As  carbonic  acid,  which  is  poisonous  to  animals  when 
breathed  in  quantities,  is  produced  both  by  the  process  of 
combustion  and  by  the  breathing  of  animals,  the  atmosphere 
would  soon  become  unfit  for  respiration  unless  nature  had 
provided  some  way  for  removing  this  deleterious  compound. 
This  process  is  performed  by  growing  vegetables,  as  already 
explained ;  and  so  well  do  the  operations  by  which  this  gas 
is  produced  and  removed  harmonize,  that  it  is  never  found  in 
excess  in  places  left  free  to  the  circulation  of  the  air.* 

9.  Any  one  who  wishes  to  test  the  character  of  carbonic 
acid  may  do  so  by  pouring  vinegar  upon  common  soda,  but 
he  must  be  cautious  about  inhaling  the  fumes  which  arise. 
What  is  very  singular  about  this  gas  is,  that  although  it  can 
not  be  taken  into  the  lungs  without  injury,  considerable 
quantities  of  it  may  be  swallowed  with  impunity ;  for  it  is 
this  same  gas  which  gives  their  sparkling  briskness  to  fer- 
mented liquors,  to  soda-water,  and  to  the  waters  of  some 
mineral  springs. 

10.  Nitrogen,  which  is  known  to  us  only  in  the  form  of  a 
gas,  is  destitute  of  either  taste,  smell,  or  color.  It  supports 
neither  combustion  nor  respiration ;  a  lighted  taper  intro- 
duced into  it  is  immediately  extinguished,  and  animals  placed 
within  it  soon  die.     Yet  it  forms  nearly  four  fifths,  by  bulk, 

•  For  the  properties  of  rarbomc  ncjrf,  and  the  effects  of  breathing  it,  eta,  read  pages  54, 
66,  and  5C  of  Fourth  Render ;  Its  absorption,  ns  food,  by  vegetables,  see  p.  208  Fourth 
Reader ;  and  for  the  general  principles  by  which  nature  harmonizes  its  production  and 
consumption,  see  the  lesson  on  '^  The  Aquaria,"  p.  '268  of  this  Reader. 


1st  DiV.  OF CHEMISTRY.  429 

of  the  air  we  breathe ;  and  although  it  is  not  known  to  enter 
into  the  composition  of  any  of  the  great  mineral  masses  of  the 
earth,  it  forms  a  considerable  part  of  most  animal  and  some 
vegetable  substances. 

11.  Nitrogen  is  remarkable  for  its  negative  properties ;  and 
as  it  enters  reluctantly  into  union  with  most  other  elementa- 
ry substances,  and  is  quite  prone  to  escape  from  them,  it  forms 
very  unstable  compounds.  In  the  decay  of  animal  and  vege- 
table matter  it  escapes  into  the  air  in  the  form  of  ammoyiia^ 
a  compound  of  hydrogen  and  nitrogen,  which  is  the  chief  in- 
gredient of  all  animal  and  vegetable  manures.  When  united 
with  oxygen  in  certain  proportions,  it  forms  the  well  known 
corrosive  substance  called  nitric  acid  or  aqua  fortis,  an  article 
of  great  value  in  the  arts. 


LES.  IX. CHEMICAL   KNOWLEDGE   AND   THE   USEFUL   AETS. 

SULPHUR  AND  CHLORINE. 

1.  As  we  have  not  space  to  treat  of  all  the  elementary  sub- 
stances and  their  combinations,  we  select  here  two,  sulphur 
and  chlorine,  for  the  purpose  of  illustrating  the  bearings  of 
chemical  knowledge  upon  the  arts  of  civilized  life. 

2.  Why  has  Great  Britain  imported  annually  from  the  vi- 
cinity of  southern  Italy  the  enormous  quantity  of  60,000  tons 
of  sulphur  ?  Why  have  a  million  and  a  half  dollars  in  gold, 
or  their  equivalent,  been  exchanged  for  such  a  substance  as 
brimstone  in  a  single  year  ?  It  must  be  because  the  English 
people  preferred  sulphur  to  gold.  Why  such  a  strange  pref- 
erence the  reader  may  reasonably  inquire. 

3.  It  was  not  to  make  gunpowder,  and  friction  matches,  as 
might  at  first  be  supposed,  but  to  maintain  and  promote  civ- 
ilization through  the  medium  of  some  of  the  most  useful  arts. 
Without  sulphur  the  processes  of  bleaching,  dying,  metal-re- 
fining, soda-making,  and  electro-telegraphing  would  cease; 
and  the  stock  of  the  druggist,  and  of  the  dealer  in  paints, 
could  not  be  replenished. 

4.  Sulphur  may  well  be  called  the  key  which  opens  the 
door  to  chemical  manufactures.  In  combination  with  oxy- 
gen, under  the  name  of  sulphuric  acid,  it  forms  a  compound 
necessary  in  almost  every  process  of  manufacturing  industry. 
Although  found  principally  in  volcanic  regions,  sulphur  is 
present  in  all  soils  where  turnips,  cabbages,  or  mustard  will 
grow  to  maturity,  as  is  shown  by  its  presence  in  the  seeds 


430  willson's  fifth  header.  Pabt  IX. 

of  such  plants.  A  silver  spoon  used  in  preparations  of  mus- 
tard is  blackened  by  the  contained  sulphur.  Sulphur  is  found 
also  in  eggs,  as  is  shown  in  the  same  manner. 

6.  Chlorine  is  the  name  of  another  very  important  element, 
which,  like  sulphur,  is  extensively  used  for  bleaching  pur- 
poses, and  also  for  the  removal  of  noxious  effluvia.  It  is  ob- 
tained pure  only  in  the  form  of  a  gas ;  but  with  the  metals 
it  forms  many  important  combinations.  The  ocean  is  its 
great  reservoir,  where  it  combines  with  sodium  to  form  com- 
mon salt.  One  atom,  or  proportion,  of  chlorine,  combined 
with  one  of  mercury,  forms  calomel — a  powder  well  known 
to  those  who  take  "  doctors'  stuff;"  and  tico  atoms  of  chlorine 
with  one  of  mercury  make  that  deadly  poison  called  corrosive 
sublimate.  It  is  well  to  remember  that  the  white  of  eggs  is 
an  eflectual  antidote  for  this  poison,  if  taken  in  season. 

6.  Chlorine  enters  into  the  composition  of  many  vegetable 
products ;  and  experiments  have  shown  that  the  germination 
of  seeds  is  promoted  by  its  presence.  The  most  explosive 
substance  known  is  a  compound  of  chlorine  and  nitrogen ; 
and  if  the  chemical  affinity  existing  between  the  elements 
of  common  table-salt  were  to  be  suspended  for  a  moment, 
the  very  contents  of  the  salt-cellar  might  prove  fatal  to  the  in- 
mates of  a  closed  room  in  which  such  separation  of  elements 
should  occur. 


LES.  X. — THE   PRINCIPAL   METALS  :    GOLD SILVER IRON. 

1.  These  are  simple  elementary  substances,  so  far  as  is  yet 
known ;  for  all  the  efforts  of  chemical  art  have  failed  either 
to  decompose  them,  or  to  form  them  by  the  combination  of 
other  elements.  Of  these,  gold  is  deemed  the  most  precious ; 
as  it  is  not  only  the  most  ductile  and  malleable  of  all  the  met- 
als, but,  being  a  very  dense,  fixed  substance,  and  not  liable  to 
changes  by  exposure  to  the  air,  it  is  well  fitted  to  be  used  as 
coin,  and  hence  is  in  universal  demand.    Therefore  it  is  that 

For  gold  tho  merchant  plows  tho  main, 
The  farmer  plows  the  manor. — Burns. 
%.  Gold  !  gold  I  p.ld  ! 

I{ri};ht  and  yellow,  hard  and  cold, 
Molten,  prraveu,  hanmiorcd,  and  rolled, 
Heavy  to  ^t't,  and  liu;ht  to  hold, 
Hoarded,  bartered,  lMiiij;;ht,  and  sold, 
Stolen,  Ivirrowed,  H(iU!indered,  doled, 
Spurned  by  the  young,  but  hupged  by  the  old 
To  tho  very  verge  of  the  church-yard  mould; 
I*ride  of  many  a  crime  untold; 
Gold  I  gold!  gold  I  gold! 
Good  or  bad  u  thourfand-fold. 


IstDlv.  OF CHEMISTRY.  431 

How  widely  its  uses  vary : 

To  save,  to  ruin,  to  curse,  to  bless ; 

Now  stamped  with  the  image  of  the  good  Queen  Bess, 

And  now  of  "■Bloody  Mary." — Hood. 

3.  The  most  interesting  chemical  property  of  gold  is  its 
want  of  affinity  for  oxygen ;  hence  gold  will  not  rust,  nor  suf- 
fer corrosion  by  contact  with  any  of  the  common  acids ;  and 
when  gold  used  for  coin  or  for  gilding  tarnishes,  it  is  because 
it  is  alloyed  with  copper  or  other  metal.  But,  although  gold 
is  the  heaviest  and  most  dense  of  all  substances  except  plati- 
num, Hke  ice  it  has  been  liquefied  in  the  laboratory  of  the 
chemist,  and  even  converted  into  gold  steam;  yet  its  proper- 
ties as  gold  have  never  been  changed  by  human  art. 

4.  Notwithstanding  the  great  value  of  gold,  it  is  not  so 
useful  for  many  purposes  as  iron.  Glaucus  made  a  good  bar- 
gain when  he  exchanged  his  golden  armor  with  Diomedes  for 
one  of  hrass^  although  Homer  has  told  us  that 

*' Jove,  of  sober  judgment  so  bereft 
Infatuate  Glaucua',  that  with  Tideus'  son 
He  bartered  gold'  for  brass^— a  hundred  beeves 
In  value',  for  the  value  small  of  nine\" 

Yet  in  point  of  lightness,  and  in  power  of  resisting  the  weap- 
ons of  the  enemy,  the  brass  armor  was  better  than  the  one 
of  gold. 

5.  Pure  silver,  like  gold,  is  sometimes  found  in  veins  in 
granite  and  other  primary  rocks,  where  it  was  doubtless  de- 
posited, ages  gone  by,  by  chemical  agencies.  Pure  silver  is 
not  acted  upon  by  common  acids ;  but  nitric  acid  dissolves 
it,  forming  nitrate  of  silver,  or  lunar  caustic,  which  has  the 
property  of  turning  black  on  exposure  to  solar  light.  This 
is  the  chief  ingredient  in  indelible  ink,  and  it  is  also  used  in 
the  preparations  of  the  photographer. 

6.  Silver  can  be  drawn  into  a  wire  much  finer  than  the  hu- 
man hair ;  and  it  is  this  wire,  gilded,  that  is  manufactured 
into  what  is  called  gold  or  silver  lace.  We  certainly  do  not 
know  of  a  more  appropriate  use  to  which  this  lace  has  been 
put  than  is  stated  in  the  following  account  of  the  Silver 
-Bird^s-nest ;  and  we  think  no  one  will  be  apt  to  forget  the 
ductile  property  of  silver,  after  associating  it  with  so  beauti- 
ful an  illustration. 

7.  "  A  stranded  soldier's  epaulet 

The  waters  cast  ashore, 
A  little  winged  rover  met. 

And  eyed  it  o'er  and  o'er. 
The  silver  bright  so  pleased  her  sight, 

On  that  lone,  idle  vest, 
She  knew  not  why  she  should  deny 

Herself  a  silver  nest. 

8.  The  shining  wire  she  peck'd  and  twirl'd ; 

Then  bore  it  to  her  bough, 


432  willson's  fifth  beadkr.  Pakt  IX. 

Where  on  a  flowery  twig  'twas  curl'd, 

The  bird  can  show  you  how ; 
But  when  enoiijjh  of  that  bright  etuff 

Tlie  cunning  builder  bore 
Her  house  to  make,  she  would  not  take, 

Nor  did  she  covet  more, 
f.  And  when  the  little  artisan, 

While  neither  pride  nor  guilt 
Had  enterM  in  her  pretty  plan, 

Her  resting-place  had  built, 
'  With  here  and  there  a  plume  to  spare 

About  her  own  light  fonn. 
Of  these,  inlaid  with  skill,  she  made 

A  lining  soft  and  warm. 

10.  But  do  you  think  the  tender  brood 

She  fondled  there,  and  fed. 
Were  prouder  when  they  understood 

The  sheen  about  their  bed  ? 
Do  you  suppose  they  ever  rose, 

Of  higher  powers  possess' d. 
Because  they  knew  they  peep' d  and  grexB 

Within  a  silver  nest  ?" — H.  F.  Gould. 

11.  And  now  last,  though  not  least,  we  have  to  consider 
some  of  the  properties,  chemical  and  otherwise,  of  that  very- 
common  metallic  substance,  iro7i.  "We  hazard  nothing  in  as- 
serting that  it  is  by  far  the  most  useful  of  the  metals.  The 
smelting  of  the  ore,  and  the  fashioning  of  the  metal  by  ham- 
mer and  fire,  must  have  been  understood  at  a  very  early  day 
in  the  world's  history ;  for  we  read  in  the  fourth  chapter  of 
Genesis  that  "Tubal  Cain  was  an  instructor  of  every  artifi- 
cer in  brass  and  iron."  And  truly  a  "  man  of  note,"  as  well 
as  a  "  man  of  might,"  he  must  have  been,  as  a  modern  poet 
has  sung : 

12.  "  Old  Tubal  Cain  was  a  man  of  might, 

In  the  days  when  earth  was  young ; 
By  the  fierce  red  light  of  his  furnace  bright* 

The  strokes  of  his  hammer  rung ; 
And  he  lifted  high  his  brawny  hand 

On  the  iron  glowing  clear, 
Till  the  sparks  rushed  out  in  scarlet  showers. 

As  he  fashioned  the  sword  and  spear. 
And  he  sang,  '■  Hurrah  for  my  Imndiwork  I 
_  Hurrah  for  the  spear  and  the  sword  ! 

Hurrah  for  the  hand  that  shall  wield  them  well* 

For  he  shall  be  king  and  lord  !'  " — Mackay. 

13.  In  combination  with  oxygen  and  sulphur,  iron  is  so 
widely  diffused  that  few  minerals  can  be  found  that  do  not 
contain  traces  of  it.  Combined  with  oxygen,  it  is  the  color- 
ing matter  of  our  most  beautiful  marbles,  as  well  as  of  clays 
and  soils;  and  were  it  not  for  the  wide  dissemination  of  ox- 
ides of  iron,  the  earthy  matter  of  the  globe  would  be  as  white 
as  chalk.  The  artist  derives  some  of  his  richest  tints  from 
iron. 

Ye  rivaled  the  tints  of  the  blushing  dawn 

With  the  hues  my  dust  supplied. 
Til)  the  humblest  work  of  art  has  shown 

Like  the  mlt-t  by  rainbows  dyed. — Cutter. 


I^Vlst 


1st  DiV.  OF CHEMISTKY.  433 

14.  Iron  is  found  in  the  blood,  where  it  performs  impor- 
tant offices,  conveying  the  oxygen  of  the  air  we  breathe /rom 
the  lungs  to  our  very  fingers'  ends,  and  bearing  back  from 
the  capillaries  the  waste  carbon  that  requires  to  be  thrown 
out  of  the  system.  It  is  also  much  used  in  medicine ;  and 
the  tonic  properties  of  those  mineral  springs  called  chalybeate 
are  due  to  the  presence  of  iron. 

I  come  where  the  suffering  patient  lies 

On  his  couch,  all  wan  and  weak, 
And  the  lustre  returns  to  his  sunken  eyes, 

And  the  bloom  to  his  pallid  cheek. — Cutteb. 

15.  Iron  is  the  only  metal  that  combines  witli  carbon, 
forming  steel  when  the  proportion  of  carbon  is  small,  and 
black-lead  or  plumbago  when  the  proportion  is  veiy  large. 
Cast-iron  contains  earthy  impurities  and  some  carbon,  which 
must  be  burned  out  to  render  the  iron  malleable.  Some  of 
the  manifold  uses  and  applications  of  iron  or  steel  are  enu- 
merated in  the  following  lines : 

"  Iron  vessels  cross  the  ocean, 
Iron  engines  give  them  motion ; 
Iron  needles  northward  veering, 
Iron  tillers  vessels  steering ; 
Iron  pipe  our  gas  delivers, 
Iron  bridges  span  our  rivers ; 
Iron  pens  are  used  for  writing, 
Iron  ink  our  thouglits  inditing ; 
Iron  stoves  for  cooking  victuals. 
Iron  ovens,  pots,  and  kettles ; 
Iron  horses  draw  our  loads. 
Iron  rails  compose  our  roads  ; 
Iron  anchors  hold  in  sands. 
Iron  bolts,  and  rods,  and  bands ; 
Iron  houses,  iron  walls. 
Iron  cannon,  iron  balls  ; 
Iron  axes,  knives,  and  chains, 
Iron  augers,  saws,  and  planes  ; 
Iron  globules  in  our  blood, 
Iron  particles  in  food  ; 
Iron  lightning-rods  on  spires, 
Iron  telegraphic  wires ; 
Iron  hammers,  nails,  and  screws — 
Iron  every  thing  we  use." 


LESSON"   XI. ACIDS,  ALKALIES,  AND   SALTS. 

1.  In  common  language,  an  acid  is  any  sour  substance,  but 
in  chemistry  the  term  is  more  extended.  An  alkali^  a  term 
originally  applied  to  the  ashes  of  plants,  is  a  substance  which 
has  a  peculiar  acrid  taste,  like  potash  or  soda.  The  acids 
and  alkalies  have  a  remarkable  affinity  for  each  other,  uniting 
with  the  greatest  facility,  losing  thereby  their  distinctive 
qualities,  and  by.  their  union  forming  a  large  class  of  com- 
pounds which  are  known  in  chemistry  as  salts.     This  latter 

T 


434  WILLSOn's  fifth  eeadeb.  Pakt  IX. 

term,  therefore,  though  in  ordinary  language  limited  to  com- 
mon salt,  is  applied  in  chemistry  to  all  combinations  of  acids 
with  alkalies. 

2.  That  common  article,  soap,  is  formed  by  the  union  of  an 
alkali  with  the  fatty  acid  of  some  oily  substance ;  and  hence 
soap  itself  may  be  considered  one  of  the  chemical  salts.  The 
alkali  most  frequently  used  is  the  common  ley  of  wood  ashes, 
which  is  essentially  the  same  as  pearlash  or  potash  dissolved 
in  water.  It  is  well  known  that  oil  and  water  have  no  dis- 
position to  unite ;  but  the  alkali  has  a  strong  affinity  for  both, 
and  in  uniting  with  them  brings  about  a  mutual  combination 
differing  from  either  of  the  ingredients.  The  principles  dis- 
played in  this  process  are  well  illustrated  in  the  following 

EASY  LESSON  IN  CHEmSTRY. 

3.  "  Some  water  and  oil 

One  day  had  a  broil, 
As  down  in  a  glaas  they  were  dropping, 

And  would  not  unite. 

But  continued  to  fight, 
Without  any  prospect  of  stopping. 

Some  pearlasli  o'erheard— 

As  quick  aa  a  word. 
He  jumped  in  the  midst  of  the  clashing; 

When  all  three  agreed, 

And  united  with  speed, 
And  soa2)  was  created  for  washing." 

4.  The  commonness  of  an  article  is  apt  to  induce  us  to 
overlook  its  importance ;  a  truth  which  is  perhaps  nowhere 
more  fully  exemplified  than  in  the  case  before  us.  Liebig 
says;  "  The  quantity  of  soap  consumed  by  a  nation  would  be 
no  inaccurate  measure  whereby  to  estimate  its  wealth  and 
civilization."  According  to  Pliny,  the  invention  of  soap  must 
be  ascribed  to  the  Gauls,  by  whom,  he  says,  it  was  composed 
of  tallow  and  ashes,  and  was  probably  at  first  an  accidental 
combination.  Homer  had  long  before  described  the  washing 
of  the  royal  robes  in  the  "Hmpid  streams;"  but  we  have 
reason  to  suspect,  from  the  known  absence  of  soap  on  that 
occasion,  that  the  picture  of  their  "  snowy  lustre"  is  over- 
drawn. 

Thev  peek  the  cisterns  whore  Phccacian  dames 
Wash  their  fair  garments  in  the  limpid  streams ; 
Where,  gathering  into  depth  from  falling  rills, 
The  lucid  wave  a  spacious  basin  fills; 
Then,  emulous,  the  royal  robes  they  lave. 
And  plunge  the  vestures  in  the  cleansing  wave  : 
The  vestures  cleansed  oVrspread  the  shelly  sand, 
Their  snowy  lustre  whitens  all  the  strand. 

Vopr'B  Odyasey,  L.  vi. 


1st  Div.  OF CHEMISTEY.  435 


LESSON"   XII. — THE   CHEMISTEY   OF   A   CANDLE. 
(Adapted  from  Dickens's  Household  Words.) 

The  Wilkinsons  were  having  a  small  party — it  consisted 
of  themselves  and  Uncle  Bagges — at  which  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  home  for  the  holidays,  had  been  just  admit- 
ted after  dinner.  Uncle  Bagges  was  a  gentleman  from  whom 
his  affectionate  relatives  cherished  expectations  of  a  testa- 
mentary nature.  Hence  the  greatest  attention  was  paid  by 
them  to  the  wishes  of  Mr.  Bagges,  as  well  as  to  every  observ- 
ation  which  he  might  be  pleased  to  make. 

"Eh!  what?  you  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bagges,  facetiously  ad- 
dressing himself  to  his  eldest  nephew,  Harry — "  eh !  what  ? 
I  am  glad  to  hear,  sir,  that  you  are  doing  well  at  school. 
Now — eh  ?  now,  are  you  clever  enough  to  tell  me  where 
was  Moses  when  he  put  the  candle  out  ?" 

"That  depends,  uncle,"  answered  the  young  gentleman, 
"  on  whether  he  had  lighted  the  candle  to  see  with  at  night, 
or  by  daylight  to  seal  a  letter." 

"  Eh  ?  Very  good,  now !  'Pon  my  word,  very  good,"  ex- 
claimed Uncle  Bagges.  "  You  must  be  lord  chancellor,  sir — 
lord  chancellor,  one  of  these  days." 

"  And  now,  uncle,"  asked  Harry,  who  was  a  favorite  with 
the  old  gentleman,  "  can  you  tell  me  what  you  do  when  you 
put  a  candle  out  ?" 

"  Clap  an  extinguisher  on  it,  you  young  rogue,  to  be  sure." 

"  Oh,  but  I  mean,  you  cut  off  its  supply  of  oxygen,"  said 
Master  Harry. 

"  Cut  off  its  ox's— eh  ?  what  ?" 

"  He  means  something  he  heard  at  the  Royal  Institution," 
observed  Mrs.  Wilkinson.  "  He  reads  a  great  deal  about 
chemistry,  and  he  attended  Professor  Faraday's  lectures  there 
on  the  chemical  history  of  a  candle,  and  has  been  full  of  it 
ever  since." 

"  Now,  you  sir,"  said  Uncle  Bagges,  "  come  you  here  to 
me,  and  tell  me  what  you  have  to  say  about  this  chemical,  eh  ? 
— or  comical ;  which  ? — this — comical  chemical  history  of  a 
candle." 

"Harry,  don't  be  troublesome  to  your  uncle,"  said  Mr. 
Wilkinson. 

"  Troublesome  ?  Oh,  not  at  all.  I  like  to  hear  him.  Let 
him  teach  his  old  uncle  the  comicality  and  chemicality  of  a 
farthing  rush-light." 


436  willson's  fifth  BEADEK.  Paut  IX. 

"  A  wax  candle  will  be  nicer  and  cleaner,  uncle,  and  answer 
the  same  purpose.  Tiiere's  one  on  the  inantel-shelf.  Let  me 
liglit  it." 

"  Take  care  you  don't  burn  your  fingers,  or  set  any  thing 
on  fire,"  said  Mrs.  Wilkinson. 

"  Now,  uncle,"  commenced  Harry,  having  drawn  his  chair 
to  the  side  of  Mr.  Bagges,  "  we  have  got  our  candle  burning. 
What  do  you  see  ?" 

"  Let  me  put  on  my  spectacles,"  answered  the  uncle. 

"  Look  down  on  the  top  of  the  candle  around  the  wick. 
See,  it  is  a  little  cup  full  of  melted  wax.  The  heat  of  the  flame 
has  melted  the  wax  just  round  the  wick.  The  cold  air  keeps 
the  outside  of  it  hard,  so  as  to  make  the  rim  of  it.  The  melt- 
ed wax  in  the  little  cup  goes  up  through  the  wick  to  be 
burned,  just  as  oil  does  in  the  wick  of  a  lamp.  What  do  you 
think  makes  it  go  up,  imcle  ?" 

"  Why — why,  the  flame  draws  it  up,  doesn't  it'  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,  uncle.  It  goes  up  through  little  tiny  pas- 
sages in  the  cotton  wick,  because  very,  very  small  channels, 
or  pipes,  or  pores,  have  the  power  in. themselves  of  sucking 
up  liquids.     What  they  do  it  by  is  called  cap — something." 

"  Capillary  attraction,  Harry,"  suggested  Mr.  Wilkinson. 

"Yes,  that's  it;  just  as  a  S2:)onge  sucks  up  water,  or  a  bit 
of  lump  sugar  the  little  drop  of  tea  or  coflee  left  in  the  bot- 
tom of  a  cup.  Now  I'll  blow  the  candle  out ;  not  to  be  in 
the  dark,  though,  but  to  see  into  what  it  is.  Look  at  the 
smoke  rising  from  the  wick.  I'll  hold  a  bit  of  lighted  paper 
in  the  smoke,  so  as  not  to  touch  the  wick.  But  see,  for  all 
that,  the  candle  lights  again.  So  this  shows  that  the  melted 
wax  sucked  up  through  the  wick  is  turned  into  vapor,  and 
the  vapor  burns.  The  heat  of  the  burning  vapor  keeps  on 
melting  more  wax,  and  that  is  sucked  up  too  within  the  flame, 
and  turned  into  vapor  and  burned,  and  so  on  till  the  wax  is 
all  used  up  and  the  candle  is  gone.  So  the  flame,  uncle,  you 
see,  is  the  last  of  the  candle,  and  the  candle  seems  to  go 
through  the  flame  into  nothing,  although  it  doesn't,  but  goes 
into  several  things ;  and  isn't  it  curious,  as  Professor  Fara- 
day said,  that  the  candle  should  look  so  splendid  and  glorious 
in  going  away  ?" 

"  How  well  lie  remembers,  doesn't  he  ?"  observed  Mrs. 
Wilkinson. 

"  I  dare  say,"  proceeded  Harry,  "  that  the  flame  of  the  can- 
dle looks  flat  to  you ;  but  if  we  were  to  put  a  lamp-glass  over 
it,  so  as  to  shelter  it  fi*om  the  draught,  you  would  see  it  is 


IstDlV.OF CHEMISTRY.  437 

round — round  sideways,  and  running  np  to  a  peak.  It  is 
drawn  up  by  the  hot  air ;  you  know  that  hot  air  always  rises, 
and  that  is  the  way  smoke  is  taken  up  the  chimney.  What 
should  you  think  was  in  the  middle  of  the  flame  ?" 

"  I  should  say  fire,"  replied  Uncle  Bagges.       ...  ..  - — 

"  Oh  no.  The  flame  is  hollow.  The  bright  flame  we  see 
is  something  no  thicker  than  a  thin  peel  or  skin,  and  it  doesn't 
touch  the  wick.  Inside  of  it  is  the  vapor  I  told  you  of  just 
now.  If  you  put  one  end  of  a  bent  pipe  into  the  middle  of 
the  flame,  and  let  the  other  end  of  the  pipe  dip  into  a  bottle, 
the  vapor  or  gas  from  the  candle  will  mix  with  the  air  there ; 
and  if  you  set  fire  to  the  mixture  of  gas  from  the  candle  and 
air  in  the  bottle,  it  would  go  ofi"  with  a  bang." 

"  I  wish  you'd  do  that,  Harry,"  said  Master  Tom,  the  youn- 
ger brother  of  the  juvenile  lecturer. 

"  I  want  the  proper  things,"  answered  Harry.  "  Well,  un- 
cle, the  flame  of  the  candle  is  a  little  shining  case,  with  gas  in 
the  inside  of  it  and  air  on  the  outside,  so  that  the  case  of 
flame  is  between  the  air  and  the  gas.  The  gas  keeps  going 
into  the  flame  to  burn,  and  when  the  candle  burns  properly 
none  of  the  gas  ever  passes  out  through  the  flame,  and  none  of 
the  air  ever  gets  in  through  the  flame  to  the  gas.  The  great- 
est heat  of  the  candle  is  in  this  skin,  or  peel,  or  case  of  flame." 

"  Case  of  flame !"  repeated  Mr.  Bagges.  "  Live  and  learn. 
I  should  have  thought  a  candle-flame  was  as  thick  as  my  poor 
old  noddle." 

"  I  can  show  you  the  contrary,"  said  Harry.  "  I  take  this 
piece  of  white  paper,  look,  and  hold  it  a  second  or  two  down 
upon  the  candle-flame,  keeping  the  flame  very  steady.  Now 
I'll  rub  off"  the  black  of  the  smoke,  and — there — you  find  that 
the  paper  is  scorched  in  the  shape  of  a  ring,  but  inside  the 
ring  it  is  only  dirtied,  and  not  singed  at  all." 

"  Seeing  is  believing,"  remarked  the  uncle. 

"  But,"  proceeded  Harry,  "  there  is  more  in  the  candle-flame 
than  the  gas  that  comes  out  of  the  candle.  You  know  a  can- 
dle won't  burn  without  air.  There  must  be  always  air  around 
the  gas,  and  touching  it  like,  to  make  it  burn.  If  a  candle 
hasn't  got  enough  air  it  goes  out,  or  burns  badly,  so  that 
some  of  the  vapor  inside  of  the  flame  comes  out  through  it 
in  the  form  of  smoke,  and  this  is  the  reason  of  a  candle  smok- 
ing. So  now  you  know  why  a  great  clumsy  dip  smokes 
more  than  a  neat  wax  candle :  it  is  because  the  thick  wick  of 
the  dip  makes  too  much  fuel  in  proportion  to  the  air  tlmt  can 
get  to  it." 


438  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pabt  IX. 

"  Dear  me  !  "Well,  I  suppose  there  is  a  reason  for  every 
thing,"  exclaimed  the  young  philosopher's  mamma. 

"What  should  you  say, now,"  continued  Harry,  "if  I  told 
you  that  the  smoke  that  comes  out  of  a  candle  is  the  very 
thing  that  makes  a  candle  burn  with  a  bright  light  ?  Yes*; 
a  candle  shines  by  consuming  its  own  smoke.  The  smoke  of 
a  candle  is  a  cloud  of  small  dust ;  and  the  little  grains  of  the 
dnst  are  bits  of  charcoal,  or  carbon,  as  chemists  call  it.  They 
are  burned  the  moment  they  are  made,  and  the  place  they 
are  made  in  is  in  the  case  of  flame  itself,  ^vhere  the  strongest 
heat  is.  The  great  heat  separates  them  from  the  gas  which 
comes  from  the  melted  wax,  and,  as  soon  as  they  touch  the 
air  on  the  outside  of  the  thin  case  of  flame,  they  burn." 

"  Can  you  tell  how  it  is  that  the  little  bits  of  carbon  cause 
the  brightness  of  the  flame'?"  asked  Mr.  Wilkinson. 

"  Because  they  are  pieces  of  solid  matter,"  answered  Har- 
ry. "To  make  a  flame  shine,  there  must  always  be  some 
solid — or  at  least  liquid — matter  in  it." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Bagges ;  "  solid  stuff  necessary  to 
brightness." 

"Some  gases  and  other  things,"  resumed  Harry,  "that 
burn  with  a  flame  you  can  hardly  see,  burn  splendidly  when 
something  solid  is  put  into  them.  Oxygen  and  hydrogen — 
tell  me  if  I  use  too  hard  words,  uncle — oxygen  and  hydrogen 
gases,  if  mixed  together  and  blown  through  a  pipe,  burn  with 
plenty  of  heat,  but  with  very  little  light.  But  if  their  flame 
is  blown  upon  a  piece  of  quick-lime,  it  gets  so  bright  as  to  be 
quite  dazzling.  Make  the  smoke  of  oil  of  turpentine  pass 
through  the  same  flame,  and  it  gives  the  flame  a  beautiful 
brightness  directly." 

"  I  wonder,"  observed  Uncle  Bagges,  "  what  has  made  you 
such  a  bright  youth." 

"Taking  after  uncle,  perhaps,"  retorted  his  nephew. 
"  Don't  put  my  candle  and  me  out.  Well,  carbon  or  char- 
foal  is  what  causes  the  brightness  of  all  lamps,  and  candles, 
and  other  common  liglits,  so  of  course  there  is  carbon  in  what 
they  are  all  made  of" 

"  So  carbon  is  smoke,  eh  ?  and  light  is  owing  to  your  car- 
bon. Giving  light  out  of  smoke,  eh?  as  they  say  in  the 
classics,"  observed  Mr.  Bagges. 

"But  what  becomes  of  the  candle,"  pursued  Harry,  "as  it 
burns  away  ?  where  does  it  go  ?" 

"Nowhere,"  said  his  mnnimn,  "T  should  ihiiik.     It  burns 


1st  DiV.  OF CHEMISTRY.  439 

"  Oh  dear,  no  !"  said  Harry ;  "  every  thing — every  body 
goes  somewhere." 

"  Eh  ?  rather  an  important  consideration  that,"  Mr.  Bagges 
morahzed. 

"  You  can  see  it  goes  into  smoke,  which  makes  soot  for  one 
thing,"  said  Harry.  "There  are  other  things  it  goes  into, 
not  to  be  seen  by  only  looking,  but  you  can  get  to  see  them 
by  taking  the  right  means  :  just  put  your  hand  over  the  can- 
dle, uncle," 

"Thank  you,  young  gentleman,  I  would  rather  be  excused." 

"  Not  close  enough  down  to  burn  you,  uncle ;  higher  np. 
There ;  you  feel  a  stream  of  hot  air,  so  something  seems  to 
rise  from  the  candle.  Suppose  you  were  to  put  a  very  long, 
slender  gas-burner  over  the  flame,  and  let  the  flame  burn  just 
within  the  end  of  it,  as  if  it  were  a  chimney,  some  of  the  hot 
steam  would  go  up  and  come  out  at  the  top,  l3ut  a  sort  of  dew 
would  be  left  behind  in  the  glass  chimney,  if  the  chimney  was 
cold  enough  when  you  put  it  on.  There  are  ways  of  collect- 
ing this  sort  of  dew,  and  when  it  is  collected  it  turns  out  to 
be  really  water.  I  am  not  joking,  uncle.  Water  is  one  of 
the  things  which  the  candle  turns  into  in  burning — water 
coming  out  of  fire.  In  some  light-houses.  Professor  Faraday 
says,  they  burn  up  two  gallons  of  oil  in  a  night ;  and  if  the 
windows  are  cold,  the  steam  from  the  oil  clouds  the  inside  of 
the  windows,  and,  in  frosty  weather,  freezes  into  ice." 

"  Water  out  of  a  candle,  eh  ?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bagges.  "  As 
hard  to  get,  I  should  have  thought,  as  blood  out  of  a  post. 
Where  does  it  come  from  ?" 

*'  Part  from  the  wax,  and  part  from  the  air ;  and  yet  not  a 
drop  of  it  comes  either  from  the  air  or  the  wax.  What  do 
you  make  of  that,  uncle  ?" 

"  Eh?  ^  Oh !  I'm  no  hand  at  riddles.     Give  it  up." 

"  No  riddle  at  all,  uncle.  That  which  comes  from  the  wax 
is  a  gas  called  hydrogen.  We  can  obtain  it  from  water  by 
passing  the  steam  of  boiling  water  through  a  red-hot  gun- 
barrel  which  contains  a  quantity  of  iron  wire  or  turnings. 
Part  of  the  steam  will  mix  with  the  iron  turnings,  and  change 
them  to  rust ;  and  the  other  part,  which  comes  out  of  the  end 
of  the  barrel,  will  be  hydrogen  gas,  and  this  part  of  the  wa- 
ter we  can  set  on  fire." 

"  Eh  ?"  cried  Mr.  Bagges.  "  Upon  my  word !  One  of 
these  days  we  shall  have  you  setting  the  river  on  fire." 

"  Nothing  more  easy,"  said  Harry.  "  When  pure  hydro- 
gen burns,  we  get  nothing  but  water.     I  should  like  to  show 


440  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  IX. 

you  how  light  this  hydrogen  is ;  and  I  wish  I  had  a  small  bal- 
loon to  fill  with  it  and  make  go  up  to  the  ceiling,  or  a  bag- 
pipe full  of  it  to  blow  soap-bubbles  with,  and  show  how 
much  faster  they  rise  than  common  ones  blown  with  the 
breath." 

"  So  do  I,"  interposed  Master  Tom. 

"  And  so,"  resumed  Harry,  "  hydrogen,  you  know,  uncle, 
is  part  of  water,  and  just  one  ninth  part." 

"  As  hydrogen  is  to  water,  so  is  a  tailor  to  an  oi;dinary  in- 
dividual, eh  ?"  Mr.  Bagges  remarked. 

"  Well,  now,  then,  uncle,  if  hydrogen  is  the  tailor's  part  of 
the  water,  what  are  the  other  parts  ?" 

"  There  must  be  eight  of  them,  to  be  sure." 

"  Good  again,  uncle ;  and  these  eight  parts  are  a  gas  also, 
that  is  called  oxygen.  This  is  a  very  curious  gas.  It  won't 
burn  in  air  at  all  itself,  like  gas  from  a  lamp,  but  it  has  a 
wonderful  power  of  making  things  burn  that  are  lighted  and 
put  into  it.  A  lighted  candle  put  into  a  jar  of  oxygen  blazes 
up  directly,  and  is  consumed  before  you  can  say  Jack  Robin- 
son. Charcoal  burns  away  in  it  as  fast,  with  beautiful  bi-ight 
sparks ;  phosphorus  with  a  light  that  dazzles  you  to  look  at ; 
and  a  piece  of  iron  or  steel,  just  made  red-hot  at  the  end  first, 
is  burned  in  oxygen  quicker  than  a  stick  would  be  in  common 
air.  The  experiment  of  burning  things  in  oxygen  beats  any 
fire-works." 

"  How  funny  that  must  be !"  exclaimed  Tom. 

"  Now  we  see,  uncle,"  Harry  continued,  "  that  water  is  hy- 
drogen and  oxygen  united  together ;  that  water  is  got  wher- 
ever hydrogen  is  burned  in  common  air ;  that  a  candle  won't 
burn  without  air ;  and  that,  when  a  candle  burns,  there  is  hy- 
drogen in  it  burning  and  forming  water.  Now,  then,  where 
does  the  hydrogen  of  the  candle  get  the  oxygen  from  to  turn 
into  water  with  it  ?" 

"  From  the  air,  eh  ?" 

"  Just  so.  It  is  the  oxygen  in  the  air  that  makes  things 
burn ;  but  if  the  air  were  nothing  but  oxygen,  a  candle  would 
not  last  above  a  minute." 

"  What  a  tallow-chandler's  bill  we  should  have  I"  remarked 
Mrs.  Wilkinson. 

"  'If  a  house  were  on  fire  in  oxygen,'  as  Professor  Faraday 
said,  '  every  iron  bar,  or,  rather,  every  pillar,  every  nail  and 
iron  tool,  and  the  fireplace  itself;  all  the  zinc  and  copper 
roofs,  and  leaden  coverings,  and  gutters,  and  pipes,  woul<l 
consume  and  burn,  increasing  the  combustion.' " 


1st  DiV.  OF  .  . CHEMISTRY.  441 

"  That  would  be,  indeed,  burning  '  like  a  house  on  fire,'  " 
observed  Mr.  Bagges. 

"But  there  is  another  gas,  called  nitrogen,"  said  Harry, 
"  which  is  mixed  with  the  air,  and  it  is  this  which  prevents 
a  candle  from  burning  out  too  fast." 

"Eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Bagges.  "  Well,  I  will  say  I  do  think  we 
are  under  considerable  obligations  to  nitrogen." 

"  I  have  explained  to  you,  uncle,"  pursued  Harry,  *'  how  a 
candle,  in  burning,  turns  into  water.  But  it  turns  into  some- 
thing else  besides  that.  The  little  bits  of  carbon  that  I  told 
you  about,  which  are  burned  in  the  flame  of  a  candle,  and 
which  make  the  flame  bright,  mingle  with  the  oxygen  in  burn- 
ing, and  form  still  another  gas,  called  carbonic  acid  gas,  which 
is  so  destructive  of  life  when  we  breathe  it.  So  you  see  that 
a  candle-flame  is  vapor  burning,  and  that  the  vapor,  in  burn- 
ing, turns  into  water  and  carbonic  acid  gas." 

"  Haven't  you  pretty  nearly  come  to  your  candle's  end'  ?'^ 
said  Mr.  "Wilkinson. 

"  I^early.  I  only  want  to  tell  uncle  that  the  burning  of  a 
candle  is  almost  exactly  like  our  breathing.  Breathing  is 
consuming  oxygen,  only  not  so  fast  as  burning.  In  breathing, 
we  throw  out  water  in  vaj)or  and  carbonic  acid  from  our 
lungs,  and  take  oxygen  in.  Oxygen  is  as  necessary  to  sup- 
port the  life  of  the  body  as  it  is  to  keep  up  the  flame  of  a 
candle." 

"  So,"  said  Mr.  Bagges,  "  man  is  a  candle,  eh  ?  and  Shak- 
speare  knew  that,  I  suppose  (as  he  did  most  things),  when 
he  wrote, 

'  Out,  out,  brief  candle  I' 

Well,  well ;  we  old  ones  are  moulds,  and  you  young  squires 
are  dips  and  rush-lights,  eh  ?  Any  more  to  tell  us  about  the 
candle?" 

"  I  could  tell  you  a  great  deal  more  about  oxygen,  and  hy- 
drogen, and  carbon,  and  water,  and  breathing,  that  Professor 
Faraday  said,  if  I  had  time ;  but  you  should  go  and  hear  him 
yourself,  uncle." 

"  Eh  ?  well,  I  think  I  will.  Some  of  us  seniors  may  learn 
something  from  a  juvenile  lecture,  at  any  rate,  if  given  by  a 
Faraday.  And  now,  my  boy,  I  will  tell  you  what,"  added 
Mr.  Bagges,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  find  you  so  fond  of  study 
and  science ;  and  you  deserve  to  be  encouraged ;  and  so  I'll 
give  you  a — what-d'ye-call-it  ?  a  galvanic  battery  on  your 
next  birthday ;  and  so  much  for  your  teaching  your  old  uncle 
the  chemistry  of  a  candle." 

T  2 


442  WILLSON's   fifth  EEADEK.  Pakt  IX. 


LESSON"  Xni. — THE  roETTc  realities  of  nature. 

From  Hunt's  Poetry  of  Science. 

1.  The  animated  marble  of  ancient  story  is  far  less  won- 
derful than  the  fact,  proved  by  investigation,  that  every  atom 
of  matter  is  interpenetrated  by  a  principle  which  directs  its 
movements  and  orders  its  positions,  and  involved  by  an  in- 
fluence which  extends  without  limits  to  all  other  atoms,  and 
Avhich  determines  their  union  or  otherwise. 

2.  We  have  gravitation  drawing  all  matter  to  a  common 
centre,  and  acting  from  all  bodies  throughout  the  wide  re- 
gions of  unmeasured  space  upon  all.  We  have  cohesion 
holding  the  particles  of  matter  enchained,  operating  only  at 
distances  too  minute  for  the  mathematician  to  measure ;  and 
we  have  chemical  attraction,  different  from  either  of  these, 
working  no  less  mysteriously  within  absolutely  insensible 
distances,  and  by  the  exercise  of  its  occult  power  giving  de- 
terminate and  fixed  forms  to  every  kind  of  material  creation. 

3.  The  spiritual  beings  which  the  poet  of  untutored  nature 
gave  to  the  forest,  to  the  valley,  and  to  the  mountain,  to  the 
lake,  to  the  river,  and  to  the  ocean,  working  within  their  se- 
cret ofHces,  and  moulding  for  man  the  beautiful  or  the  sub- 
lime, are  but  the  weak  creations  of  a  finite  mind,  although 
they  have  for  us  a  charm  which  all  men  unconsciously  obey, 
even  when  they  refuse  to  confess  it.  They  are  like  the  re- 
sult of  the  labors  of  the  statuary,  who,  in  his  high  dreams  of 
love  and  sublimated  beauty,  creates  from  the  marble  rock  a 
figure  of  the  most  exquisite  moulding  which  mimics  life.  It 
charms  us  for  a  season ;  we  gaze  and  gaze  again,  and  its  first 
charms  vanish ;  it  is  ever  and  ever  still  the  same  dead  heap 
of  chiseled  stone.  It  has  not  the  power  of  presenting  to  our 
wearying  eyes  the  change  which  life  alone  enables  matter  to 
give ;  and,  while  we  admit  the  excellence  of  the  artist,  we 
cease  to  feel  at  his  work. 

4.  The  mysteries  of  flowers  have  ever  been  the  charm  of 
the  poet's  song.  Imagination  has  invested  them  with  a  magic 
influence,  and  fancy  has  almost  regarded  them  as  spiritual 
things.  In  contemplating  their  surpassing  loveliness,  the 
mind  of  every  observer  is  improved,  and  the  sentiments 
which  they  inspire,  by  their  mere  external  elegance,  are  great 
and  good.  But  on  examining  the  real  mysteries  of  their  con- 
ditions, their  physical  phenomena,  the  relations  in  which  they 
istand  to  the  animal  world,  "stenlinor  and  ijivincr  odors"  in 


1st  DlV.  OF CHEMISTRY.  443 

the  marvelous  interchange  of  carbonic  acid  and  ammonia  for 
the  soul-inspiring  oxygen — all  speaking  of  the  powers  of  some 
unseen,  indwelling  principle,  directed  by  a  supreme  ruler — 
the  philosopher  finds  subjects  for  deep  and  soul-trying  con- 
templation. Such  studies  lift  the  mind  into  the  truly  sublime 
of  nature.  The  poet's  dream  is  the  dim  reflection  of  a  dis- 
tant star ;  the  philosopher's  revelation  is  a  strong  teloscopic 
examination  of  its  features.  One  is  the  mere  echo  of  the  re- 
mote whisper  of  Nature's  voice  in  the  dim  twilight ;  the  other 
is  the  swelling  music  of  the  harp  of  Memnon,^  awakened  by 
the  sun  of  truth,  newly  risen  from*  the  night  of  ignorance. 

5.  Poetical  creations  are  pleasing,  but  they  never  affect  the 
mind  in  the  "way  in  w^hich  the  poetic  realities  of  nature  do. 
The  sylph  moistening  a  lily  is  a  sweet  dream ;  but  the  thoughts 
which  rise  when  first  we  learn  that  the  broad  and  beautiful 
dark  green  leaves  of  the  lily,  and  its  pure  and  delicate  flower, 
are  the  results  of  the  alchemy  which  changes  gross  particles 
of  matter  into  symmetric  forms,  of  a  power  which  is  unceas- 
ingly at  work  under  the  guidance  of  light,  heat,  and  elec- 
trical force,  are,  after  our  incredulity  has  passed  away — for 
it  is  too  wonderful  for  the  untutored  to  believe  at  once — 
of  an  exalting  character. 

6.  The  flower  has  grown  under  the  imj)ulse  of  principles 
which  have  been  borne  to  it  on  the  beam  of  solar  light,  and 
mingled  with  its  substance,  and  it  has  a  language  for  all  men. 
The  poet,  indeed,  tells  us  of  a  man  to  w^hom 

"The  primrose  on  the  river's  brink 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 
And  it  was  nothing  more.'''' 

But  it  was  something  more.  He  perhaps  attended  not  to  the 
eloquent  teaching  of  its  pure  pale  leaves ;  he  might  not  have 
been  conscious  of  the  mysterious  singing  of  that  lowly  flower; 
he  might  perchance  have  crushed  it  beneath  his  rude  foot 
rather  than  quaff  the  draught  of  wisdom  which  it  secreted  in 
its  cell ;  but  the  flower  still  ministered  to  that  mere  sensual- 
ist, and  in  its  strange  tongueless  manner  reproved  his  pas- 
sions, and  kept  him  "  a  wiser  and  a  better  man"  than  if  it  had 
pleased  God  to  leave  the  world  without  tlie  lovely  primrose. 

7.  A  stone,  likewise,  is  merely  a  stone  to  most  men.  But 
within  the  interstices^  of  the  stone,  and  involving  it  like  an 
atmosphere,  are  great  and  mighty  influences — powers  which 
are  fearful  in  their  grander  operations,  and  w^onderful  in  their 
gentler  developments.  The  stone  and  the  flower  hold,  lock- 
ed up  in  their  recesses,  the  three  great  known  forces,  light, 
heat,  and  electricity,  and,  in  all  probability,  others  of  a  more 


444  willson's  fifth  BEADEE.  Paht  IX. 

exalted  nature  still,  to  which  these  powers  are  but  subordin- 
ate agents.  Such  are  the  facts  of  science,  which,  indeed, 
draw  "  sermons  from  stones,"  and  find  "  tongues  in  trees." 
Science  alone  can  interpret  the  mysterious  whisperings  of 
Mature,  and  in  this,  consists  its  poetry. 

8.  How  weak  are  the  creations  of  romance  when  viewed 
besid<?  the  discoveries  of  science.  One  affords  matter  for 
meditation,  and  gives  rise  to  thoughts  of  a  most  ennobling 
character ;  the  other  excites  for  a  moment,  and  leaves  the 
mind  vacant  or  diseased.  .  The  former,  like  the  atmosphere, 
fui-nishes  a  constant  supply  of  the  most  healthful  matter ;  the 
latter  gives  an  unnatural  stimulus,  which  compels  a  renewal 
of  the  same  kind  of  excitement  to  maintain  the  continuation 
of  its  pleasurable  sensations. 

1  Mem'-non.    The  famous  vocal  statue  of  I    a  ipufiical  string;  an  historical  fact,  but 
Alemnon,  in  I'gypt,  was  said  to  utter,  when      the  cause  of  which  remains  a  mystery, 
itwasstruckhy  the  first  beams  of  the  risinp  2  In'-ter-sti-ces,  spaces  between  the  parts 
sun,  a  sound  like  the  snapping  asunder  of  j     which  compose  a  body. 


LESSON"   XIY. THE   EXTENT   OF    CHEMICAL   ACTIOU-. 

Robert  Hunt. 

1.  It  is  evident  that  in  all  chemical  phenomena  we  have 
the  combined  exercise  of  the  great  physical  forces  and  evi- 
dences of  some  powers  which  are,  as  yet,  shrouded  in  the 
mystery  of  our  ignorance.  The  formation  of  minerals  "vvithin 
the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  the  germination  of  seeds,  the  growth 
of  the  plant,  the  developments  of  its  fruit  and  its  ultimate  de- 
cay, the  secret  processes  of  animal  life,  assimilation,  digestion, 
and  respiration,  and  all  the  changes  of  external  form  which 
take  place  around  us,  are  the  result  of  the  exercise  of  that 
principle  which  we  call  chemical. 

2.  By  chemical  action  plants  take  from  the  atmosphere  the 
elements  of  their  growth ;  these  they  peld  to  animals,  and 
from  these  they  are  again  returned  to  the  air.  The  viewless 
atmosphere  is  gradually  formed  into  an  organized  being, 
which  as  gradually  is  again  resolved  into  the  thin  air,  and  all 
through  chemical  processes.  The  changes  of  the  mineral 
world"  are  of  an  analogous  character,  but  we  can  not  trace 
them  so  clearly  in  all  their  phenomena. 

3.  An  eternal  round  of  chemical  action  is  displayed  in  na- 
ture. Life  and  death  are  but  two  phases  of  its  influences. 
Growth  and  doony  nro  equally  the  result  of  its  power. 


NINTH  MISCELLAJSTEOUS  DIVISION. 

ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A  COUNTEY  CHUJRCH-YARD. THOS.  GEAY. 

["  Gray's  Elegy"  i3  generally  conceded  to  be  one  of  the  most  finished  poems  ever  writ- 
ten. It  supposes  the  poet  to  be  musing  in  a  country  church-yard  at  the  close  of  a  tran- 
(luil  summer's  day,  when  the  scene  calls  up  a  train  of  reflections  upon  the  character  and 
occupations  of  the  "  rude  forefathers  of  the  peaceful  hamlet"  who  sleep  beneath  him. 
Reflecting  that  they  shall  wake  no  more  at  morn  to  pursue  their  daily  avocations,  he 
passes  in  review  before  him  the  industrious,  contented,  unambitious  life  they  led,  while 
both  their  virtues  and  their  crimes  were  circumscribed  by  the  humble  lot  in  life  which 
Providence  had  assigned  them.  The  poet  then  fancies  some  one,  after  years  had  passed 
away,  inquiring  into  his  fate,  and  he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  "  some  hoary -headed  swain"  a 
simple  relation  of  the  little  that  might  then  be  told  of  his,  the  poet's,  humble  history ;  and 
this  is  followed,  in  the  last  three  verses,  by  his  own  epitaph.  The  artist  has  pictured  ev- 
ery scene  described,  as  it  la  supposed  to  have  arisen  in  the  mind  of  the  poet.] 


1 .  The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day ; 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea ; 
The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 


2.  Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight. 
And  drowsy  tinklinccs  lull  the  distant  folds  : 


446 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


3.  Save  that,  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower, 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 


Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade. 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap. 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 


The  breezy  call  of  iiiconse-breathing  mom, 
Tlie  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

Tlie  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  tlioir  lowlv  bed. 


NINTH  MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION. 


447 


C.  For  them,  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care ; 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees,  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 


7    Oft  did  the  hai-vest  to  their  sickle  yield ; 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke  ; 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  a-field ! 
How  bow'd  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke  ! 


8.  Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure ; 
Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 


448 


WILLSON'S  FIFTH   EEADEE. 


0.  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Await,  alike,  th'  inevitable  hour — 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 


10    Nor  yon,  ye  proud !  impute  to  these  the  fault. 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise ; 
Where,  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault, 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 


1 1 .  Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust. 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  lleeting  breath  ? 
Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust  ? 

Or  Flattorv  soothe  tlio  dull,  cold  car  of  Death  ? 


NINTH   MISCELLANEOUS  DIVISION. 


449 


12. 


Perhaps,  in  this  neglected  spot,  is  laid 

Some  heart,  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 

Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  sway'd, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre. 


13. 


Rut  Knowledge,  to  their  eyes,  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll : 

Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 


14.  Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene. 

The  dark,  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear; 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen. 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 


460 


WILLSON'S   FIFTH   READER. 


Some  village  Hampden,  that,  with  dauntless  breast, 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood ; 

Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest ; 
Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 


10.  Th'  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command  ; 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise ; 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  historv  in  a  nation's  eves, 


1 7.  Their  lot  forbad  :  nor  circumscribed  alone 

Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined ; 
Forbad  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne. 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind. 


NIXTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION. 


451 


18.  The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide 
To  quench  the  bhishes  of  ingenuous  shame ; 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride, 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 


10.  Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learn'd  to  stray ; 
Along  the  cool,  sequester'd  vale  of  life. 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 


20. 


Yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 
Some  frail  memorial  still,  erected  nigh, 

With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  deck'd. 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 


452 


WILLSON'S  FIFTH   EEADEK. 


21.  Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unletter'd  Muse, 
The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  su|)p]y ; 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 


22.  For  who,  to  dumb  Forgetfulncss  a  jHcy, 

This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned  ; 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ? 


23.  On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies ; 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 
E'en  from  the  tomb  tlic  voice  of  Nature  cries ; 
E'rn  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  iircs. 


NINTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION. 


i63 


24.  For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  th'  unhonor'd  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate ; 
If  'chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led, 
Some  kindred  s])irit  shall  inquire  thy  fate ; 


25. 


26. 


Haply,  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say : 
*'  Oft  have  we  seen  him,  at  the  peep  of  dawn, 

Brushing,  with  hasty  steps,  the  dews  away. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 


"  There,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 

His  listless  length,  at  noontide,  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 


454 


willson's  fifth  eeadee. 


27. 


"  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling,  as  in  scorn, 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies,  he  would  rove : 

Now  drooping,  woeful,  wan,  like  one  forlorn. 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  cross'd  in  hopeless  love. 


28.   "  One  morn  I  miss'd  him  on  the  'custom'd  hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree ; 
Another  came — nor  yet  beside  the  rill. 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he ; 


29.    "The  next,  with  dirges  due,  in  sad  array. 

Slow  through  the  church-way  path  wo  saw  him  borne. 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn.'" 


NINTH   MISCELLANEOUS    DIVISION. 


455 


30.  Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth, 

A  youth,  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown , 

Fair  Science  frown'd  not  on  his  humble  birth, 

And  Melancholy  mark'd  him  for  her  own. 


31.  Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere ; 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send  : 
He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had — a  tear ; 
He  gain'd  from  Heaven  ('twas  all  he  wish'd)  a  friend. 


32.  No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose. 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose). 
The  bosom  of  his  Fatlicr  and  his  God. 


456 


THE  RAZOR-SELLER. 

The  following  Is  a  fine  reading  exercise,  and  pains  Hhould  be  taken  to  give  it  the  same 
degree  of  naturalness  that  we  should  expect  if  the  original  scene  had  been  acted  before 
our  eyes.  . 

1.  A  fellow  in  a  market  town, 

Most  musical,  cried  razors  up  and  down, 
And  offered  twelve  for  eighteen  pence, 
Which  certainly  seemed  wondrous  cheap, 
And  for  the  money  quite  a  heap, 

As  every  man  would  buy,  with  cash  and  sense. 

2.  A  country  bumpkin  the  great  offer  heard — 
Poor  Hodge,  who  suffered  by  a  broad  black  beard, 

That  seemed  a  shoe-brush  stuck  beneath  his  nose  -^ 
With  cheerfulness  the  eighteen  pence  he  paid. 
And  proudly  to  himself,  in  whispers,  said, 

"  This  rascal  stole^  the  razors,  I  suppose'. 

3.  ' '  No  matter  if  the  fellow  be  a  knave. 
Provided  that  the  razors  shave'; 

It  certainly  will  be  a  monstrous  prize." 
So  home  the  clown,  with  his  good  fortune,  went, 
Smiling  in  heart  and  soul,  content. 

And  quickly  soap'd  himself  to  ears  and  eyes. 

4.  Being  well  lathered  from  a  dish  or  tub, 
Hodge  now  began  with  grinning  pain  to  grub. 

Just  like  a  hedger  cutting  furze  : 
'Twas  a  vile^  razor! — then  the  rest  he  tried — 
All  were  impostors — "Ah!"  Hodge  sigh'd, 

"I  wish  my  eighteen  pence  within  my  purse." 
6.  Hodge  sought  the  fellow — found  him — and  begun  : 
"P'rhaps,  Master  Razor-rogue',  to  you  \is  Jun\ 

That  people  flay  themselves  out  of  their  lives  : 
You  rascal !  for  an  hour  have  I  been  grubbing, 
Giving  my  crying  whiskers  here  a  scrubbing, 

With  razors  just  like  oyster^  knives. 
Sirrah'  I  I  tell  you,  you're  a  knave\ 
To  cry  up  razors  that  can't  shave'. ^^ 
C.   ** Friend,"  quoth  the  razor-man,  "  I'm  not  a  knave : 

As  for  the  y-azors  you  have  bought', 

Upon  my  soul'  I  never  thought^ 
That  they  would  shave'." 
•'  Not  think  they'd  shave' .'"  quoth  Hodge,  with  wondering  eyes. 

And  voice  not  much  unlike  an  Indian  yell ; 
♦'What  were  they  made  for,  then,  you  dog?"  he  cries: 

"Made'  1"  quoth  the  fellow,  with  a  smile— "to  sell\" 

John  Wolcott  (Pkter  Pindah;. 


1st  Div.  or GilOLOGY.  457 

PART  X. 

FIEST  DIVISION  OP  GEOLOGY. 

[This  subject  is  continued  in  the  Sixth  Reader.] 


The  '■'•  Medals  of  Creation." 

lieliold !  a  new  kind  of  medals,  much  more  important  and  incomparably  more  ancient 
than  those  of  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans. — Knorr's  Monuments. 

LESSON   I. INTRODUCTORY. 

1.  It  is  from  the  "Medals  of  Creation" — the  fossil  remains 
of  plants  and  animals  scattered  throughout  the  rocky  strata 
of  the  globe — that  we  are  enabled  to  read  that  wonderful 
portion  of  our  earth's  history  which  reaches  back  even  into 
chaos  itself,  myriads  of  ages  before  the  creation  of  man. 
These  are  the  electrotypes  of  nature — faithful  records,  which 
there  is  no  conflicting  testimony  to  invalidate,  and  which  no 
criticism  can  gainsay. 

2.  It  is  believed  by  most  geologists  that  the  earth  was  at 
one  time  a  molten  mass,  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  filled 
with  dense  gases  and  vapors  ;  and  that,  as  the  outer  portions 
cooled,  forming  the  rocks  and  the  dry  land,  the  vapors,  con- 
densing and  falling  in  showers,  formed  springs,  rivers,  and 
the  waters  of  the  ocean.  This  is  the  geological  theory  of  the 
gradual  calling  of  order  out  of  chaos,  after  the  great  work  of 
creation  had  been  completed. 

3.  It  is  maintained  that  this  view  of  the  early  condition  of 
our  globe,  and  of  the  successive  changes  that  subsequently 
occurred  in  it  during  thousands  and  perhaps  millions  of  years 
prior  to  the  creation  of  man,  does  not  at  all  conflict  with  the 
scriptural  account  of  the  creation.     The  scriptural  account, 

U 


458  WILLSOn's  fifth  BEADER.  Part  X. 

{IS  paraplirased  by  a  modern  commentator,  would  read  thus : 
"In  the  heginning  God  created  the  heavens  and  the  earth. 
And  the  earth  was  desolate.  Afterward^  the  Spirit  of  God 
moved  upon  the  face  of  the  waters;"  thus  allowing  the  pos- 
sibility of  even  millions  of  years  between  the  first  act  of  crea- 
tive power  and  the  six  days'  work  of  arranging  the  universe. 
4.  Different  opinions  long  prevailed  among  the  learned 
with  regard  to  the  nature,  the  extent  of  time,  and  the  date 
of  the  six  days'  work  of  creation,  for  the  Bible  gives  us  no 
explanation  on  these  points;  but  by  most  of  the  learned  of 
the  present  day,  and  by  all  eminent  geologists,  the  "  six  days" 
are  understood  to  be  indefinite  periods  of  time,  as  it  is  said 
that,  with  the  Almighty,  "  a  thousand  years  are  to  be  reckon- 
ed but  as  one  day."  It  seems  reasonable  to  suppose  that 
they  may  have  been  prophetic  periods  looking  into  the  past, 
and  seen  in  vision  by  the  inspired  historian.  "  The  Creation" 
has  been  chosen  as  a  theme  for  august  description  by  the 
poet  Milton,  and  it  likewise  forms  the  subject  of  Haydn's 
grandest  oratorio. 


LESSON  II. — Raphael's  account  of  the  creation. 

Milton. 

1.  Heaven  opened  wide 
Her  ever-during  gates — harmonious  sound — 
On  golden  hinges  moving,  to  let  forth 

The  King  of  Glory,  in  his  powerful  Word 

And  Spirit  coming  to  create  new  worlds. 

On  heavenly  ground  they  stood ;  and,  from  the  shore, 

They  viewed  the  vast,  immeasurable  abyss, 

Outrageous  as  a  sea,  dark,  wasteful,  wild, 

Up  from  the  bottom  turned  by  furious  winds 

And  surging  waves,  as  mountains  to  assault 

Heaven's  height,  and  with  the  centre  mix  the  pole. 

2.  "Silence,  ye  troubled  waves,  and  thou  deep,  ])eace  !'* 
Said  then  the  omnific  Word ;  "your  discord  end !" 
Nor  stayed,  but,  on  the  wings  of  cherubim 
Uplifted,  in  paternal  glor}'  rode 

Far  into  chaos,  and  the  world  unborn ; 
For  chaos  heard  his  voice :  him  all  his  train 
Followed  in  bright  procession,  to  behold 
Creation,  and  the  wonders  of  his  might. 

3.  Then  stayed  the  fervid  wheels,  and  in  his  hand 
He  took  the  golden  compasses,  prepared 

In  God's  eternal  store,  to  circumscribe 
This  universe,  and  all  created  things : 
One  foot  he  centred,  and  the  other  turned 
Round  through  the  vast  profundity  obscure, 


1st  DiV.  OF GEOLOGY.  459 

And  said,  **Thus  far  extend,  thus  far  thy  bounds, 
This  be  thy  just  circumference,  oil  world!" 

4.  Thus  God  the  heaven  created,  thus  the  earth, 
Matter  unformed  and  void ;  darkness  profound 
Covered  the  abyss ;  but  on  the  watery  calm 
His  brooding  wings  the  Spirit  of  God  outspread, 
And  vital  virtue  infused,  and  vital  warmth  ^ 
Throughout  the  fluid  mass : 

then  founded,  then  conglobed 

Like  things  to  like,  the  rest  to  several  place 
Disparted,  and  between  spun  out  the  air ; 
And  earth,  self-balanced,  on  her  centre  hung. 

5.  "Let  there  be  light, "said  God;  and  forthwith  light 
Ethereal,  first  of  things,  quintessence  pure, 
Sprung  from  the  deep,  and,  from  her  native  east. 
To  journey  through  the  airy  gloom  began. 
Sphered  in  a  radiant  cloud ;  for  yet  the  sun 

Was  not :  she  in  a  cloudy  tabernacle 

Sojourned  the  while.     God  saw  the  light  was  good, 

And  light  from  darkness,  by  the  hemisphere, 

Divided :  light  the  day,  and  darkness  night, 

He  named. 

6.  Thus  was  the  first  day,  even  and  morn  : 
Nor  passed  uncelebrated,  nor  unsung 

By  the  celestial  choirs,  when  orient  light 

Exhaling  first  from  darkness  they  beheld; 

Birthday  of  heaven  and  earth :  with  joy  and  shout 

The  hollow  universal  orb  they  filled, 

And  touched  their  golden  harps,  and,  hymning,  praised 

God  and  his  woi-ks :  Creator  him  they  sung, 

Both  when  first  evening  was,  and  when  first  mom. 


LESSON   III. CHARACTER    OF  THE  GEOLOGICAL  HISTORY  Ot 

THE   EARTH. 

1.  Geology  is  the  science  which  treats  of  the  materials 
that  compose  the  earth,  and  of  the  organic  remains  which 
they  contain.  According  to  Sir  Charles  Lyell,  "  Geology  is 
the  science  which  investigates  the  successive  changes  that 
have  taken  place  in  the  organic  and  inorganic  kingdoms  of 
nature ;  it  inquires  into  the  causes  of  these  changes,  and  the 
influences  which  they  have  exerted  in  modifying  the  surface 
and  external  structure  of  our  planet." 

2.  The  earth  has  not  always  existed  in  its  present  condi- 
tion, and  geology  gives  us  a  view  of  its  history  during  a 
period  of  unknown  length — not  oniy  thousands,  but  perhaps 
millions  of  years — long  before  the  creation  of  man.  It  ap- 
pears  that,  during   this   time,  the   earth   underwent  many 


460  WILLSON  S    FlJj^ril    IIKADEK.  pART  X. 

changes ;  that  beds  or  strata  of  rock  were  formed  during  suc- 
cessive ages  at  the  bottom  of  the  seas  by  the  gradual  wearing 
away  of  rocks  on  land,  through  atmospheric  agencies  and  the 
action  of  water,  and  their  deposition  on  the  bed  of  the  ocean 
in  the  form  of  mud,  and  sand,  and  gravel ;  that  these  strata 
were  sometimes  thrown  up  by  subterranean  forces ;  and  that 
hills  and  valleys  were  thus  formed,  and  the  sea  and  land  often 
made  to  change  places.  But  what  is  more  wonderful  than 
all  this,  and  that  which  gives  the  study  of  geology  peculiar 
interest,  we  have  abundant  proof  that  while  these  operations 
were  going  on,  there  arose  a  succession  of  plants  and  animals, 
beginning  with  those  of  simplest  form,  often  widely  diiferent 
from  any  now  in  existence,  and  advancing  to  those  of  higher 
character,  until  those  nearest  the  present  races  appeared. 

3.  All  this  wonderful  history  has  been  learned  in  the  fol- 
lowing manner.  From  the  present  appearances  of  mountain 
chains,  and  chasms,  and  from  artificial  excavations,  geologists 
have  been  enabled,  after  an  almost  incredible  amount  of  labor 
and  research,  directed  by  the  light  of  science,  to  rearrange, 
measure,  and  examine  the  different  formations  called  strati- 
fied rocks,  which  are  supposed  to  reach,  when  unbroken,  to 
the  depth  of  about  ten  miles  below  the  surface ;  below  which, 
and  of  an  unknown  depth,  are  the  unstratified  masses,  w^hich 
show  from  their  position,  and  the  crystalline  arrangement  of 
their  parts,  the  action  of  heat,  and  an  origin  earlier  in  point 
of  time.  AH  but  the  lower  or  first  formed  class  of  the  strati- 
fied rocks  are  found  to  contain  the  remains  of  plants  and  ani- 
mals, generally  in  a  fossil  state,  nearly  all  of  which  (except 
those  in  the  very  uppermost  strata),  to  the  number  of  more 
than  thirty  thousand  species,  were  different  from  any  that 
now  exist. 

4.  It  is  surprising  how  much  may  be  learned  of  the  struct- 
ure and  habits  of  animals  from  a  few  fossil  remains.  It  is 
stated  that,  so  mathematically  exact  are  the  proportions  be- 
tween the  different  parts  of  an  animal,  "from  the  character  of 
a  single  limb,  and  even  of  a  single  tooth  or  bone,  the  forms  and 
proportions  of  the  other  bones,  and  the  condition  of  the  entire 
animal,  may  bo  inferred.  Hence,  not  only  the  frame-work  of 
the  fossil  skeleton  of  an  extinct  animal,  but  also  the  character 
of  the  muscles  by  which  each  bone  was  moved,  the  external 
form  and  figure  of  the  body,  the  food,  and  habits,  and  haunts, 
and  mode  of  life  of  creatines  that  ceased  to  exist  before  the 
creation  of  the  human  race,  can,  with  a  high  degree  of  prob- 
abilitv,  be  ascertained." 


1st  Div.  OF GEOLOGY.  461 

5.  Sometimes  organic  remains,  such  as  bones,  are  found  but 
partially  decayed,  and  sometimes  impregnated  with  mineral 
matter ;  sometimes,  through  chemical  changes,  the  animal  or 
vegetable  matter  has  entirely  disappeared,  and  the  place 
which  it  occupied,  in  what  has  since  become  rock,  has  been 
so  entirely  filled  with  mineral  matter  as  to  form  a  genuine 
petrifaction  ;  sometimes,  after  the  rock  had  become  harden- 
ed, the  animal  or  plant  had  decayed  and  escaped  through  the 
pores  of  the  stone,  so  as  to  leave  nothing  but  a  perfect  mould; 
while  at  other  times  the  only  evidence  of  the  existence  of  an 
animal  is  its  track  in  the  clay  or  sand,  since  hardened  into 
rock. 

6.  When  Shakspeare  made  his  charming  Ariel  sing 

"  Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies, 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made, 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes  ; 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea  change 

Into  something  rich  and  strange," 

he  little  thought  how  correctly  he  painted  the  chemical 
changes  by  which,  during  the  ages  past,  decomposing  animal 
matter  has  stamped  its  myriad  forms  upon  what  are  now  the 
"  medals  of  creation." 

7.  The  organic  remains  which  have  thus  far  been  discover- 
ed are  more  abundant  than  is  generally  supposed.  Fossil 
shells,  in  great  quantities,  have  been  found  both  on  lofty 
mountains  and  below  the  beds  of  rivers.  On  mountains  and 
in  mines,  hundreds  of  miles  from  the  sea,  are  the  remains  of 
strange-looking  fish ;  the  skeleton  of  a  whale  has  been  found 
on  a  mountain  three  thousand  feet  high,  and  the  skeleton  of 
an  elephant  has  been  exhumed  from  the  frozen  sand  and  mud 
on  the  very  confines  of  the  Frozen  Sea.  But,  what  is  more 
wonderful  still,  whole  mountains,  hundreds  and  even  thou- 
sands of  feet  high,  are  essentially  composed  of  organic  re- 
mains. 

8.  Such  is  the  character  of  the  language  which  the  geolo- 
gist must  learn  before  he  can  read  the  curious  history  of  the 
earth,  and  of  the  animal  and  vegetable  races  that  have  lived 
upon  it.  A  very  accurate  and  extensive  knowledge  of  zoolo- 
gy and  botany  will  also  be  required,  to  enable  him  to  ascer- 
tain whether  the  organic  remains  which  he  finds  in  the  rocks 
belonged  to  extinct  species,  or  are  identical  with  those  now 
livings  on  the  globe.  That  part  of  geology  which  gives  the 
history  of  the  remains  of  plants  and  animals  is  called  Pal-e- 
on-tol'-o-gy^  a  Greek  word  which  means  "  the  science  of  an- 
cient beins^s  or  creatures." 


462 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


FabtX. 


THE  DIFFERENT  PERIODS  OF  THE  EARTH'S  HISTORY. 


a  rt,  Granite  veins ;  b  b^  metalliferous  veins ;  c  c,  dike  of  serpentine; 
e  e,  lava  and  volcano ;  /,  dike  of  trap. 

The  above  cut,  designed  to  give  a  geological  view  of  the  earth's  history,  represents  a 
vertical  section  of  the  earth,  ynih  the  several  classes  of  stralified  formations  resting  upon 
the  unstratiiied  granite  rocks,  the  latter  being  represented  hi  re  as  tbroirn  np  through 
the  superincumbent  mass  by  volcanic  agency.  By  this  tilting  up  of  the  stratifietl  rocks 
in  numerous  localities,  so  tiiat  the  edges  of  even  the  lowermost  of  the  strata  niay  be  seen, 
both  the  relative  position  and  the  thickness  of  all  the  strata  Iiave  been  very  acenratelj 
ascertained. 

LESSOX    IV. THE   PRIMARY    PERIOD. 

"•  Oh,  who  can  strive 
To  comprehend  the  viist,  the  awful  truth 
Of  the  eternity  that  hath  gone  by, 
And  not  recoil  from  the  dit^mnyiug  sense 
Of  human  impotence  1     The  life  of  man 
Is  summed  in  birthdays  and  in  sepulchres, 
But  the  eternal  God  had  no  beginning." 

1.  The  geological  history  of  our  globe,  as  gathered  from 
its  Btrnctiire,  begins  far  back — myriads  of  years  beyond  our 
powers  of  computation,  but  even  then  far  removeil  from  "  the 
beginning" — in  some  imknown  age  of  sterility  and  desolation. 
If  plants  and  animals  then  existed,  all  traces  of  them  were 
subsequently  destroyed  by  a  period  of  intense  heat,  which 
fused  the  earth's  surface  into  a  molten  mass,  and  formed  a 
vast  layer,  of  unknown  depth,  of  what  are  called  the  primary 
or  imstratified  rocks,  of  which  the  enduring  granite,  the  low- 


1st  DiV.  OF GEOLOGY.  463 

est  in  the  series,  and  the  great  frame-work  of  the  earth's 
crust,  is  the  most  abundant.* 

2.  It  is  granite  rock  chiefly  which  is  now  seen  rising  to 
the  greatest  heights,  and  stretching  into  those  mountain 
chains  which  form  the  grand  natural  divisions  of  the  globe. 
In  these  cases  the  granite  has  been  thrown  up  by  subterra- 
nean forces,  breaking  through  the  superincumbent  strata, 
tilting  them  up  on  their  edges,  and  thus  affording  to  the  ge- 
ologist the  opportunity  of  examining  them  in  detail.f  It  is 
chiefly  in  veins  of  the  primary  rocks  that  the  ores  of  lead,  tin, 
and  the  precious  metals  are  found.  The  celebrated  geologist 
Hugh  Miller,  in  speaking  of  this  primary  period  of  the  world's 
hivStory,  in  which  he  supposes  that  the  earth's  crust  had  suf- 
ficiently cooled  down  to  permit  the  existence  of  a  sea,  with 
waves  and  currents,  draws  the  following  imaginary  picture : 

3.  "  I  dare  not  speak  of  the  scenery  of  the  period.  We 
may  imagine,  however,  a  dark  atmosphere  of  steam  and  va- 
por, which,  age  after  age,  conceals  the  face  of  the  sun,  and 
through  which  the  light  of  moon  or  star  never  penetrates ; 
oceans  of  thermal  water,  heated  in  a  thousand  centres  to  the 
boiling  point ;  low,  half-molten  islands,  dim  through  the  fog, 
and  scarce  more  fixed  than  the  waves  themselves,  that  heave 
and  tremble  under  the  impulsions  of  the  igneous  agencies ; 
roaring  geysers,  that  ever  and  anon  throw  up  their  intermit- 
tent jets  of  boiling  fluid,  vapor,  and  thick  steam,  from  these 
tremulous  lands ;  and,  in  the  dim  outskirts  of  the  scene,  the 
red  gleam  of  fire,  shot  forth  from  yawning  cracks  and  deep 
chasms,  and  bearing  aloft  fragments  of  molten  rock  and  clouds 
of  ashes.  But,  should  we  continue  to  linger  amid  a  scene  so 
featureless  and  wild,  or  venture  adown  some  yawning  open- 
ing into  the  abyss  beneath,  where  all  is  fiery  and  yet  dark — a 
solitary  hell,  without  suffering  or  sin — we  would  do  well  to 
commit  ourselves  to  the  guidance  of  a  living  poet,  and  see 
with  his  eyes,  and  describe  in  his  verse : 

4.  The  awful  walla  of  shadows  round  might  dusky  mountains  seem, 
But  never  holy  light  hath  touched  an  outline  with  its  gleam ; 
'Tis  but  the  eye's  bewildered  sense  that  fain  would  rest  on  foi-m. 
And  make  night's  thick  blind  presence  to  created  shapes  conform. 
No  stone  is  moved  on  mountain  here  by  creeping  creature  crossed, 
No  loiiely  hai-per  comes  to  harp  upon  this  fiery  coast : 

Here  all  is  solemn  idleness  ;  no  music  here,  no  jars, 

Wiiere  silence  guards  the  coast  ere  thrill  her  everlasting  bars; 

No  sun  here  sliines  on  wanton  isles;  but  o'er  the  burning  sheet 

A  rim  of  restless  halo  shakes,  which  marks  the  internal  heat ; 

As  in  the  days  of  beauteous  earth  we  see,  with  dazzled  sight. 

The  red  and  setting  sun  o'ei-flow  witli  rings  of  welling  light.— Thomas  Aibd. 

•  Granite  is  composed  chiefly  of  mica,  quartz,  and  feldspar ;  but  in  some  granite  rocks 
talc  and  hornblende  take  the  place  of  mica,  and  then  tlie  rock  is  called  syenite.  Porphifrif 
is  only  another  modification  of  granite.  t  See  cut  at  the  head  of  this  lesson. 


464 


willson's  fifth  reader. 


I'akt  X, 


LESSON"  V. — THE  TRANsrnox  period. 


Geologicai,  Remains  of  Animals  of  the  Tbansition  Period. 
1, 6,  and  8  are  Coral  Zoophytes  of  the  Lower  Sihirian.  2, 10,  and  12  are  Ijower  Silurian 
Trilobites,  from  one  to  three  inches  in  length.  3,  4,  and  5  are  the  earliest  Mollusca  or  Shell- 
fish. 7,  a  Silurian  Crinoidea — an  animal  having  a  radiated  lily-sliaped  disk  supported  on 
a  jointed  stem.  9,  a  Placoid  Fish  of  the  Upper  Silurian.  13  and  1.5  nre  Ammonites ;  and 
14,  u  section  of  No,  13,  showing  the  interior  chambers.  10,  a  Star-fish.  17,  one  of  the 
earliest  Polypes,  or  plant-like  Zoophytes. 

1.  In  entering  upon  the  second  age  of  the  worid's  history, 
which  is  called  the  transition  period,  the  evidences  of  strati- 
fication, which  began  to  be  dimly  discerned  in  the  uppermost 
of  the  primary  rocks,  are  quite  decisive,  and  layer  follows 
upon  layer,  mostly  of  a  slaty  character,  until  the  mass  accu- 
mulates to  the  supposed  average  depth  of  five  or  six  miles. 
All  of  these  layers  appear  to  have  been  gradually  deposited 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  during  myriads  of  years  by  the 
slow  wearing  away  of  the  mountains  of  the  primary  rocks  by 
the  action  of  water. 

2.  In  this  transition  period,  of  incalculable  vastness,  we 
discern,  in  a  few  scattered  fossils,  the  first  faint  traces  of  the 
beginnings  of  vegetable  and  animal  life.  In  the  lower,  or 
Cambrian  j^ortion,  a  few  sea-weeds  have  left  their  imprints  in 
the  rocks ;  and  a  few  shells  and  corals,  and  a  few  trilobites 
— most  singular  species  of  Crustaceans — have  been  trans- 
formed into  stone.  In  the  upper,  or  Silurian  portions,  sea- 
weeds are  more  numerous,  and  the  fragmentary  remains  of  a 
few  terrestrial  vegetables  are  discernible ;  but  marine  shells 
and  corals  abound,  and  the  trilobites  receive  their  fullest  de- 
velopment, both  in  size  and  number.  Here  a  few  fishes  first 
appear,  of  the  Placoid  order,  as  perfect  in  their  kind  as  those 
of  later  ages,  but  their  forms  are  not  well  known.  In  this 
period,  myriads  of  ages  ago,  life  appeared  in  fashions  pecul- 


1st  DiV.  OF GEOLOGY.  405 

iarly  antique,  and  nearly  all  of  its  types  have  long  since  be- 
come obsolete. 

3.  It  is,  however,  interesting  to  notice  here  that  shells  of 
the  family  called  Ammonites,  which  are  among  the  earliest 
traces  of  the  animal  kingdom,  appear  in  this  early  period ; 
and  it  is  a  cmious  fact,  that  while  all  other  families  and  orders 
of  shells  of  this  period — and,  indeed,  of  many  subsequent  eras 
— have  entirely  died  out,  and  now  form  vast  layers  of  rocky 
strata  of  limestone  and  marble,  some  species  allied  to  the 
ancient  family  of  the  Ammonites  are  found  in  every  succeed- 
ing period  of  geological  history,  and  kindred  species  exist  in 
our  seas  at  the  present  day.  Among  these  is  the  JVautihcs, 
whose  geological  history  has  been  written  in  the  following- 
appropriate  lines : 

4.  Thou  didBt  laugh  ftt  sun  and  breeze 
In  the  new  created  seas  ; 

Thou  wast  vrith  the  reptile  broods 
In  the  old  sea  solitudes, 
Sailing  in  the  new-made  light 
With  the  curled-up  ammonite. 
Thou  surviv'di-t  the  awful  shock 
Which  turned  the  ocean  bed  to  rock, 
And  changed  its  myriad  living  swarms 
To  the  marble's  veined  forms, 
6.  Thou  wast  there,  thy  little  boat, 

Airy  voyager,  kept  afloat   ' 
O'er  the  waters  wild  and  dismal. 
O'er  the  yawning  gulfs  abysmal ; 
Amid  wreck  and  overturning. 
Rock-imbedding,  heaving,  burning. 
Mid  the  tumult  and  the  stii-, 
Thou,  most  ancient  marint  r. 
In  that  pearly  boat  of  thine, 
SaiPdst  upon  the  troubled  brine. — ISIrs.  Howitt. 

6.  It  should  be  remarked  that  thus  far  in  the  world's  his- 
tory no  traces  of  any  reptile,  bird,  or  mammal  have  been 
discovered,  which  may  be  considered  evidence  conclusive 
that  none  of  these  animals  were  in  existence  at  this  epoch ; 
but  when,  at  length,  after  countless  ages,  fishes  appeared, 
perfect  m  their  kind,  at  the  same  time  are  presented  the  first 
evidences  of  a  diminutive,  yet  highly  organized  tree  vegeta- 
tion. Vertebrated  animals  and  land  vegetation  were  new 
and  distinct  creations ;  and  upward,  from  life's  beginnings, 
through  all  its  ascending  stages,  we  constantly  meet  with 
evidences  of  new  creations,  but  none  whatever  of  any  devel- 
opment of  higher  grades  from  lower.  The  first  fiat  of  crea- 
tion doubtless  insured  the  perfect  adaptation  of  animals  to 
the  surrounding  media ;  and  thus,  while  the  geologist  recog- 
nizes a  beginning,  he  sees  the  same  evidences  of  Omniscience 
in  the  lower  Crustaceans  as  in  the  completion  of  the  higher 
Vertebrate  form. 

U2 


46G 


WILLSONS   FIFTH    RKADER. 


Part    X. 


LESSON    VI. — THE   SECONDARY   PERIOD. 


CrEOLOGIOAL  liKMAtNS  OF   ANIMALS  OF  THE  MIDDLE   SE<!0>DAUY    Pf:IUOU. 

1,  3,  and  4,  remaina  of  curious  Fish,  from  fix  to  ten  inches  in  lengtli.     6,  a  flanoid  Fish. 
2  and  8,  fassil  Corals.    5  and  T,  Trilobites,  five  or  six  inches  in  length.    9,  the  Plesiosaunui,  ■ 
a  lizard-like  marine  reptile,  from  ten  to  fifteen  feet  in  length.     10,  the  Ichthyof^anrus,  or 
fish-lizard,  a  kind  of  reptile  whale,  from  twenty  to  thirty  feet  in  length.     [Tlie  relative  pro- 
portions could  not  be  preserved  in  the  drawing.] 

1.  In  ascending  from  the  Transition  to  the  Secondary  pe- 
riod, after  passing  the  Devonian,  which  in  North  America 
exhibits  no  less  than  eleven  distinct  eras,  we  arrive  at  the 
Carboniferous  system  of  rocks,  which  is  so  called  from  being 
the  great  depository  of  that  important  substance  called  coal. 
A  new  creation  is  here  opened  to  view  in  the  luxuriant  trop- 
ical vegetation  which  distinguishes  the  Carboniferous  epoch 
of  our  globe.  The  various  kinds  of  coal  are  simply  vegetable 
matter — the  remains  of  ancient  forests  deposited  in  vast  ra- 
vines or  ocean  beds,  and  deeply  buried  there,  and  changed  to 
their  present  forms  by  chemical  processes  in  Nature's  own 
laboratory.*  The  coal  is  often  covered  by  layers  of  shale,  or 
slaty  coal,  which  consists  of  masses  of  leaves  and  stems  close- 
ly pressed  together,  and  indicating  an  intermediate  stage  in 
the  coal  formation.  The  appearance  of  the  roof  of  one  of  the 
coal-mines  of  Bohemia  having  this  shale  or  partially  formed 
coal  for  its  covering,  is  thus  described  by  Dr.  Buckland : 

2.  "  The  most  elaborate  imitations  of  living  foliage  on  the 
painted  ceilings  of  the  Italian  palaces  bear  no  comparison 
with  the  beauteous  profusion  of  extinct  vegetable  forms  with 
which  the  galleries  of- these  instructive  coal-mines  are  over- 
hung. The  roof  is  covered  as  with  a  canopy  of  gorgeous 
tapestry,  enriched  with  festoons  of  most  graceful  foliage,  flimg 

•  This  seems  to  have  been  eflfected  by  exposure  to  heat  and  moisture,  probably  under 
great  pressure,  and  in  circumstances  that  excluded  the  air,  and  prevented  the  escape  of 
the  more  volatile  principles.  Not  only  the  various  coals,  but  bitumen,  amber,  mineral 
oils,  and  even  the  diamond,  were  probably  produced  under  various  modifications  of  these 
circun^tances. 


1st  DiV.  OF GEOLOGY.  46  T 

in  wild,  irregular  profusion  over  every  portion  of  its  surface. 
The  effect  is  heightened  by  the  contrast  of  the  coal-black 
color  of  these  vegetables  with  the  light  groundwork  of  the 
rock  to  which  they  are  attached. 

3.  "  The  spectator  feels  transported,  as  if  by  enchantment, 
into  the  forests  of  another  world ;  he  beholds  trees  of  form 
and  character  now  unknown  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
presented  to  his  senses  almost  in  the  beauty  and  vigor  of 
their  primeval  life ;  their  scaly  stems  and  bending  branches, 
with  their  delicate  apparatus  of  foliage,  are  all  spread  forth 
before  him,  little  impaired  by  the  lapse  of  indefinite  ages,  and 
bearing  faithful  records  of  extinct  systems  of  vegetation, 
which  began  and  terminated  in  times  of  which  these  relics 
are  the  infallible  historians.  Such  are  the  grand  natural  her- 
baria Avherein  these  most  ancient  remains  of  the  vegetable 
kingdom  are  preserved  in  a  state  of  integrity  little  short  of 
their  living  perfection,  under  conditions  of  our  planet  which 
exist  no  more." 

4.  It  is  not  only  known  that  coal  is  of  vegetable  origin,  but 
the  kinds  of  plants  which  formed  it  have  been  accurately  de- 
termined, to  the  number  of  more  than  three  hundred  species, 
but  all  different  from  any  of  the  present  age,  although  allied 
to  existing  types  by  common  principles  of  organization.  Of 
these  fossil  species,  two  thirds  are  related  to  the  tree  ferns 
and  the  higher  orders  of  cryptogamous  plants.  The  conifer- 
ous, or  cone-bearing  species,  are  also  prominent ;  and  there 
is  little  doubt  that  petroleum,  and  naphtha,  and  other  mineral 
oils  of  coal  regions,  are  nothing  more  than  the  turpentine  oil 
of  the  pines  of  former  ages.  The  internal  heat  of  the  earth 
has  distilled  it;  and,  after  being  buried  for  thousands  of  years, 
it  is  now  discovered,  to  supply  the  wants  of  man.  Remains 
of  corals,  shell-fish,  a  few  insects,  among  which  are  several  spe- 
cies of  beetle,  fishes  of  peculiar  construction,  the  king-crab 
among  Crustaceans,  and  in  Pennsylvania  the  tracks  of  some 
Batrachian  reptiles,  have  been  found  in  the  Carboniferous 
rocks.  Here,  also,  are  the  last  of  the  trilobites,  which  appear 
to  have  become  extinct  after  the  coal  formations. 

5.  Ascending  above  the  Carboniferous  epoch,  we  pass  suc- 
cessively, in  this  Secondary  period,  through  three  groups  or 
systems  of  rocky  strata,  known  as  the  Saliferous,  or  Red  Sand- 
stone, the  Oolitic,  and  the  Cretaceous.  The  first  of  these  is 
comparatively  scanty  in  organic  remains ;  but  in  the  other 
two,  fossils  are  exceedingly  abundant.  Our  existing  islands 
and  continents  are  principally  composed  of  the  spoils  of  this 


468  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  X. 

period,  whose  history  opens  to  iis  the  fathomless  depths  of 
ancient  seas,  and  vast  marshes,  with  the  remains  of  myriads 
of  beings  which  hved  and  died  in  their  waters. 

6.  The  ocean  then  swarmed  with  sponges  and  other  zoo- 
phytes, sea-weeds,  and  corals,  and  Crustaceans ;  even  oysters 
were  abundant,  but  different  from  existing  species ;  remains 
of  a  shark-like  fish  are  found  here ;  smaller  fish  were  numer- 
ous ;  and  in  almost  every  fragment  of  some  of  the  flint  forma- 
tions their  minute  scales  have  been  detected  by  the  aid  of  the 
microscope.  On  the  land  were  several  species  of  spiders, 
and  insects  in  considerable  numbers.  The  tracks  of  gigantic 
birds  have  been  detected — "  footprints  in  the  sands  of  time" 
— in  the  rocks  of  this  period ;  but  of  the  existence  of  any 
mammalia,  the  sole  indications  are  the  jaws  of  some  small 
animals  related  to  the  opossum. 


Geoloqical  Remains  op  Animals  of  the  Uppkb  Sbcosdary  Pehiod, 
1,  a  Criuoitlea.  These  are  sparingly  found  in  this  period.  2,  6,  and  9  arc  remains  of 
Echinites,  or  Sea-urchins.  3,  8,  and  12  are  Crctaccaii  shells.  Thv'  fi4i  here  represented 
are  from  one  to  three  feet  in  lengtJi.  5  is  the  Pterodactyl^  or  flyinp  reptile,  having  the 
head  and  neck  of  a  bird,  the  jaws  and  teeth  of  a  crocodile,  the  wing-!  of  a  but,  and  the 
body  and  tail  of  a  mammal.  It  is  believed  that  the  spread  of  its  wing-i  was  not  less  than 
twenty-five  feet.  13  is  the  restored  figure  of  the  Lnimmdot}^  jis  drawn  by  Martin,  and 
found  in  MaiiteH's  fJeology.  In  making  a  complete  drawing  of  such  an  animal  from  its 
fossil  remains,  much  of  its  extemal  appearance  nni.«t  be  left  to  the  imagination.  It  is 
certain,  however,  that  tlie  iguanodon  was  a  monster  reptile,  thirty  or  forty  feet  in  length. 
From  the  form  of  its  teeth,  and  the  vegetable  matter  found  in  connection  with  its  skele- 
ton, it  is  known  to  have  been  herbivorous. 

v.  The  remains  of  turtles,  the  earliest  clear  indications  of 
the  reptile  tribe,  occur  in  the  Saliferous  period ;  and  above 
them,  and  later  in  point  of  time,  but  still  in  this  Secondary 
era,  are  the  remains  of  the  crocodile.  But  what  especially 
mark  this  as  the  Af/e  of  Reptiles  are  the  numerous  species 
of  monster  Saurians,  bearing  such  uncouth  nnnios  as  the  ich- 
thyosau'rus,  plcsiosau'rus,  megalosau'rus,  and  the  iguan'odon, 
with  the  pterodac'tyls,  or  flying  reptiles.  In  the  island  or 
peninsula  of  Portland,  England,  a  petrified  forest  has  been 
discovered  in  the  upper  formations  of  the  Secondary  period, 
and  therefore  contemporary  with  the  monster  reptiles  whose 


1st  DlV.  OF GEOLOGY. 


469 


names  we  have  given.  "We  have  represented  the  forms  and 
dimensions  of  some  of  these  monsters  of  a  by-gone  age  as 
they  have  been  pictured  and  described  by  geologists. 

8.  In  closing  our  sketch  of  this  Secondary  period,  we  would 
remark,  in  the  language  of  Hugh  Miller,  that  at  this  period 
in  the  history  of  our  country,  "  at  the  close  of  the  Cretaceous 
system,  there  existed  no  species  of  plant  or  animal  that  exists 
at  the  present  time.  We  know  that  it  is  appointed  for  all 
individuals  once  to  die,  whatever  their  tribe  or  family,  be- 
cause hitherto  all  individuals  have  died ;  and  geology,  by  ex- 
tending our  experience,  shows  us  that  the  same  fate  awaits 
on  species  as  on  the  individuals  that  compose  them."  Of  the 
several  periods  of  existence  which  measure  animated  nature, 
the  briefest  is  allotted  to  individuals :  species  live  longer — 
genera  longer  still ;  while  above  them  are  orders  and  classes, 
the  latter  the  most  comprehensive  of  all. 


LESSON    VII. THE   TEKTIAPwY    PERIOD. 


Seah  nf  Feet. 

Geological  Remains  of  Animals  of  the  Tebtiaey  Period. 
[The  scale  of  feet  is  applicable  to  all  but  the  shells.'] 
1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  fossil  Shells  of  the  Tertiary  period— very  numerous.  9,  the  Dino- 
therium,  an  animal  not  less  than  fifteen  feet  in  height,  with  immense  tusks  curving  down- 
ward, and  the  proboscis  of  an  elephant  10,  skeleton  of  a  Mastodon,  weighing  2000  pounds, 
found  at  Newburgh,  X.  Y.,  in  1845.  11,  skeleton  of  a  Megatherium;  thigh-bone  eleven 
inches  in  diameter,  and  claw-armed  toes  more  than  two  feet  in  length.  12, 13, 14,  and  15 
are  a  group  of  extinct  Pachydermata,  which  bear  an  affinity  to  the  Tapir,  Rhinoceros, 
and  Hippopotamus.  The  largest,  the  Palceotherium  magnum,  was  of  the  size  of  a  horse, 
but  more  thick  and  clumsy. 

1.  Still  ascending,  in  the  order  of  time,  in  the  geological 
history  of  our  globe,  we  next  come  to  the  Tertiary  period, 
likewise  of  vast  and  indefinite  extent,  but  constituting  a  series 


470  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  X. 

of  formations  which  link  together  the  present  and  the  past. 
We  have  evidences  of  numerous  changes  in  the  earth's  crust 
in  the  beginnings  of  this  epoch,  of  volcanic  action  of  great 
extent  and  frequency,  and  of  alternations  of  ocean  beds  with 
those  of  vast  fresh-water  lakes.  The  alternating  strata  of  this 
period  have  been  divided  into  three  principal  groups,  charac- 
terized by  the  proportion  of  shells,  allied  to  existing  species, 
which  they  contain.  Thus  the  lowest  group,  the  eocene^  sig- 
nifying the  dawn  of  the  recent^  contains  not  more  than  three 
or  four  per  cent,  of  fossil  shells  allied  to  those  of  recent  spe- 
cies ;  the  next,  the  miocene^  about  twenty  per  cent. ;  and  the 
upper,  the  pliocene^  about  eighty  per  cent.* 

2.  But  besides  the  marine  and  fresh-water  shells  which 
abound  in  this  period,  imbedded  in  vast  layers  of  Hmestone 
rocks,  the  fossils  of  crabs,  lobsters,  and  other  Crustaceans  are 
numerous ;  there  have  also  been  found  the  teeth  of  unknown 
sharks,  and  the  remains  of  many  genera  of  fishes,  vast  quan- 
tities of  the  remains  of  leaves,  fruits,  stems  of  plants,  and 
trunks  of  trees  perforated  by  the  horer^  together  with  the  fos- 
sils of  birds  related  to  existing  species.  But  what  especially 
characterize  the  older  Tertiary  deposits  are  the  numerous  fos- 
sil remains  of  a  class  of  pachydermata,  of  species  now  un- 
known, but  bearing  an  aifinity  to  the  tapir,  the  rhinoceros, 
and  the  hippopotamus.  Such  are  the  numerous  species  of 
the  palceotherium  and  the  atioplotherium^  some  of  which  are 
represented  in  the  engraving  at  the  head  of  this  lesson. 

3.  In  the  middle  division  of  this  period  the  seas  became  the 
habitation  of  numbers  of  marine  mammalia,  consisting  of  dol- 
phins, whales,  seals,  and  the  manatee,  although  none  of  them 
were  of  the  same  species  as  those  which  exist  at  present. 
Here,  also,  are  found  the  remains  of  the  gigantic  dinotherium 
— an  animal  not  less  than  fifteen  feet  in  height,  with  the  pro- 
boscis of  an  elephant,  and  tusks  curved  downward  as  in  the 
walrus.     He  seems  to  have  formed  a  connecting  Unk  between 

*  It  may  be  rpgarded  as  a  sinpnlar  coincidence  that  the  capitals  of  Great  Britain  and 
France  are  located  on  Btrata  of  the  same  peologlcal  epocli  in  tlie  Tertiary  period.  Both 
Parirt  and  London  are  pituated  im  a  vast  alternation  of  marine  and  fre.<li-water  beds,  lying 
in  basins  of  the  chalk  formation,  the  npptrmoat  of  the  Secondary  period.  The  annexed 
cut  illui^trates  the  geological  formation  of  the  two  cities.  These  ancient  basins  or  gulfs 
London.  Pnris. 


were  evidently  open  to  the  sea  on  one  side,  while  on  the  other  they  were  supplied  by  riv- 
ers cliarped  witl>  the  spoils  of  the  country  tlirough  which  they  flowed,  and  carrying  down 
the  remains  of  animals  and  plants,  with  land  and  river  shells.  Changes  in  the  relative 
level  of  the  land  and  sea  took  jjlaco,  and,  lastly,  the  country  was  elevated  to  its  present 
altitude  above  the  sea. — Mantki.i,. 


1st  DiV.  OF GEOLOGY.  471 

the  pachydermata,  his  predecessors,  and  those  later  mamma- 
lia, the  Cetacea,  or  whales.  There  is  little  doubt  that  he  was 
an  inhabitant  of  the  lakes  and  marshes,  and  that  he  could  an- 
chor himself  to  the  firm  laud  by  his  huge  tusks.  His  singu- 
lar appearance  has  inspired  some  one  to  write  the  following: 

SONG  OF  THE  DINOTHERIUM. 

4.  *'  My  thirst  I  slake  in  the  cooling  lake, 

Where  I  swim  among  the  fishes, 
And  should  hunger  gnaw  my  vacant  matr, 

A  dinner  meets  my  wishes  : 
For  bulbous  roots  or  tender  shoots 

I  dig  or  crop  at  pleasure, 
And  having  dined,  if  to  sleep  inclined, 

I  lay  me  down  at  leisure. 
As  a  ship  will  ride  in  the  rushing  tide 

If  lier  anchors  meet  the  sand. 
So  when  I  sleep  in  the  river  deep, 

My  tusks  are  in  the  land." 

5.  In  the  lower  division  of  the  Tertiary  the  hee  first  makes 
its  appearance,  the  fossil  remains  of  one  having  been  found 
sealed  up  in  a  piece  of  amber — "  an  embalmed  corpse  in  a 
crystal  coffin,"  as  Hugh  Miller  beautifully  describes  it.  Co- 
existent with  the  bee  are  the  first  of  the  Ophidians  or  serpents, 
as  shown  in  a  monster  species  allied  to  the  modern  python. 
Here  also  we  first  detect  plants  and  trees  belonging  to  well- 
known  existing  genera  and  orders,  but  not  of  existing  spe- 
cies. 

6.  In  the  uppermost  strata  of  this  period  are  found  remains 
of  the  mastodon,  and  also  of  numerous  species  of  mammalia 
almost  or  nearly  identical  with  many  of  the  existing  species. 
Thus,  in  vast  caves  of  the  later  Tertiary  period,  accidentally 
opened  in  many  places  in  Europe  and  Asia,  have  been  found 
the  skeletons  of  immense  numbers  of  hygenas,  mixed  with  the 
bones  of  the  cave-tiger,  the  cave-bear,  the  mammoth,  and  the 
rhinoceros.  The  first  traces  also  of  ruminant  animals  appear 
at  this  time — of  wild  oxen,  deer,  camels,  horses,  and  other 
creatures  of  the  same  class,  and,  even  in  high  northern  lati 
tndes,  the  remains  of  species  of  elephants  now  unknown. 

Yes !  where  the  huntsman  winds  his  matin  hoi'n, 
And  the  couch'd  hare  beneath  the  covert  trembles  ; 

Wliere  shepherds  tend  their  flocks,  and  grows  the  corn  ; 
Where  Fashion  on  our  gay  parade  assembles, 

Wild  horses,  deer,  and  elephants  have  strayed, 
Treading  beneath  their  feet  old  Ocean's  races.— Horace  Smith. 


472  willson's  fifth  reader.  Paht  X. 


LESSON"   VIII. — THE   MODERN  GEOLOGICAL  PERIOD. 

1.  The  raodern  geological  period  embraces  the  two  eras 
known  as  the  Drift  and  the  Alluvium.  The  Drift  strata  rest 
upon  the  Tertiary,  and  are  spread  over  almost  every  part  of  the 
northern  regions  of  the  globe  in  the  form  of  coarse  sand  and 
gravel,  beds  of  clay,  and  rocks,  called  boulders,  torn  from  the 
masses  to  which  they  belonged  by  the  force  of  floods  and 
glaciers ;  while  the  Alluvium  consists  of  the  surface  soil,  and 
layers  of  loam,  sand,  and  fine  gravel,  evidently  deposited  by 
rivers,  or  in  still  water.  In  the  Drift  period,  which  w^as  one 
of  floods  of  vast  extent,  the  climate  of  northern  countries 
Avas  evidently  colder  than  during  the  Tertiary,  and  probably 
colder  than  at  present.  Hugh  Miller  describes  our  earth  in 
this  period  as  "  a  foundering  land  under  a  severe  sky,  beaten 
by  tempests  and  lashed  by  tides,  with  glaciers  half  choking 
up  its  cheerless  valleys,  and  with  countless  icebergs  brushing 
its  coasts  and  grating  over  its  shallows." 

2.  Drift,  embracing  a  period  of  repeated  depressions  and 
elevations  of  the  land,  is  almost  destitute  of  organic  remains 
of  animals  and  plants  that  lived  during  the  time  of  its  pro- 
duction ;  but  it  abounds  in  immense  quantities  of  the  bones 
of  those  large  mammalia  which  must  have  existed  at  the  close 
of  the  Tertiary  period.  These  remains  belong  principally  to 
animals  related  to  the  elephant,  as  the  mammoth  and  masto- 
don, and  the  various  species  of  hippopotamus,  rhinoceros, 
horse,  ox,  deer,  and  the  animals  whose  remains  were  found  in 
the  caves  already  mentioned,  and  also  throughout  the  frozen 
regions  of  northern  Asia.  The  mastodon  and  a  few  other 
monster  mammalia,  now  extinct,  appear  to  have  lived  as  late 
as  the  time  of  the  earliest  of  the  alluvial  deposits.  It  is  in  the 
Alluvial  period  only  that  the  remains  of  max  and  his  works 
liave  thus  far  been  found.  "  Geology,  scarce  less  certainly  than 
Revelation  itself,  testifies  that  the  last-born  of  creation  was 
man,  and  that  his  appearance  on  earth  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
cent events  of  which  it  submits  the  memorials  to  its  votaries!" 

"From  harmony — from  heavenly  harmony — 
This  universal  frame  Ix'gan  ; 
From  harmony  to  harmony. 
Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran, 
The  diapa'son  closing  full  in  man." 

3.  We  have  thus  hastily  glanced  at  the  succession  of  ages 
which  make  up  the  geological  history  of  our  planet.  We  have 
seen  land  and  water  succeeding  each  other  on  our  globe  in 


1st  Div.  OF GEOLOGY.  473 

continual  mutations;  and  we  are  thence  prepared  to  admit 
the  possibility  that 

'•''  New  worlds  are  still  emerging  from  the  deep, 
The  old  descending  in  their  turn  to  rise." 

But  what  strikes  us  with  the  greatest  force  is  the  evidence 
of  the  successive  creations  which  have  peopled  our  planet ; 
we  have  seen  race  after  race  of  beings  starting  into  exist- 
ence, and  then  disappearing ;  for  we  know,  by  testimony 
which  can  not  be  controverted,  that 

"  The  earth  has  gathered  to  her  breast  again, 
And  yet  again,  the  millions  that  were  born 
Of  her  unnumbered,  unremembered  tribes," 

and  each  tribe  and  race  has  been  adapted  to  the  circumstances 
in  which  it  was  placed,  thereby  affording  the  most  evident 
proofs  of  the  wisdom  and  overruling  providence  of  the  Cre- 
ator. Reflecting  on  these  phenomena,  the  mind  recalls  the 
impressive  exclamation  of  the  poet : 

'"''  My  heart  is  awed  within  me  when  I  think 
Of  the  great  miracle  which  still  goes  on 
In  silence  round  me — the  perpetual  work 
Of  TiiY  creation,  finished^  yet  renewed 
Forever." 


LESSO^N"   IX. EETEOSPECTIVE   VIEW    OF   GEOLOGY. 

Let  us  now  reverse  the  order  of  viewing  the  geological 
history  of  our  globe,  starting  from  the  present,  and  proceed- 
ing backward  against  the  order  of  time.  As  the  traveler  who 
ascends  to  the  regions  of  eternal  snow  gradually  loses  sight 
of  the  abodes  of  man,  and  of  the  groves  and  forests,  till  he  ar- 
rives at  sterile  plains,  where  a  few  stinted  shrubs  alone  meet 
his  eye,  and  as  he  advances  even  these  are  lost,  and  mosses 
and  lichens  remain  the  only  vestiges  of  organic  life,  and  these 
too  at  length  pass  away,  and  he  enters  the  confines  of  the  in- 
organic kingdom  of  nature — in  like  manner  the  geologist 
who  penetrates  the  secret  recesses  of  the  globe  perceives  at 
every  step  of  his  progress  the  existing  forms  of  animals  and 
vegetables  gradually  disappear,  while  the  shades  of  other 
creations  teem  around  him.  These,  in  their  turn,  vanish  from 
his  sight;  other  new  and  strange  modifications  of  organic 
structure  supply  their  place  ;  these  also  fade  away ;  traces  of 
animal  and  vegetable  life  become  less  and  less  manifest,  till 
they  altogether  disappear ;  and  he  descends  to  the  primary 
rocks,  where  all  evidence  of  organization  is  lost,  and  the  gran- 
ite, like  a  pall  thrown  over  the  relics  of  a  former  world,  con- 
ceals forever  the  earliest  scenes  of  the  earth's  physical  dramn. 

Mantell. 


474  willson's  fiftu  heaukh.  pakt  X. 


LES.  X. — A   VISIT  TO   THE   COUNTEY   OF  THE  IGUANODON. 

1.  A  VIVID  idea  of  the  "Age  of  Reptiles,"  and  also  of  the 
subsequent  changes  in  the  earth's  geological  history,  is  given 
by  the  geologist,  Dr.  Mantell,  in  the  following  fanciful  sketch, 
which  the  reader  may  suppose  to  have  been  written  by  a 
higher  intelligence,  who  first  visited  our  sphere  "  some  millions 
of  years  ago,"  in  that  portion  of  the  Secondary  period  denom- 
inated the  "  Age  of  Reptiles,"  when  the  now  fossil  forests  of 
Portland  were  flourishing.  The  Sussex  coast  of  England  il- 
lustrates all  the  geological  changes  here  described. 

2.  "  Countless  ages  ere  man  was  created  I  visited  these  re- 
gions of  the  earth,  and  beheld  a  beautiful  country  of  vast  ex- 
tent, diversified  by  hill  and  dale,  with  its  rivulets,  streams, 
and  mighty  rivers  flowing  through  fertile  plains.  Groves  of 
palms  and  ferns,  and  forests  of  coniferous  trees,  clothed  its 
surface ;  and  I  saw  monsters  of  the  reptile  tribe,  so  huge  that 
nothing  among  the  existing  races  can  compare  with  them, 
basking  on  the  banks  of  its  rivers  and  roaming  through  its 
forests ;  while  in  its  fens  and  marshes  were  sporting  thou- 
sands of  crocodiles  and  turtles.  Winged  reptiles  of  strange 
forms  shared  with  birds  the  dominion  of  the  air,  and  the  wa- 
ters teemed  with  fishes,  shells,  and  Crustacea. 

3.  "  And  after  the  lapse  of  many  ages  I  again  visited  the 
earth ;  and  the .  country,  with  its  innumerable  dragon-foryns, 
and  its  tropical  forests,  all  had  disappeared,  and  an  ocean  had 
usurped  their  place.  And  its  waters  teemed  with  the  nauti- 
lus and  other  molluscs,  of  races  now  extinct,  and  innumerable 
fishes  and  marine  reptiles.* 

4.  "  And  thousands  of  years  rolled  by,  and  I  returned,  and 
lo !  the  ocean  was  gone,  and  dry  laud  had  again  appeared, 
and  it  was  covered  with  groves  and  forests ;  but  these  were 
wholly  different  in  character  from  those  of  the  vanished  coun- 
try of  the  iguanodon.  And  I  beheld,  quietly  browsing,  herds 
of  deer  of  enormous  size,  and  groups  of  elephants,  mastodons, 
and  other  herbivorous  animals  of  colossal  magnitude.  And 
I  saw  in  its  rivers  and  marshes  the  hippo])otanius,  tapir,  and 
rhinoceros ;  and  I  heard  the  roar  of  the  lion  and  the  tiger, 
and  the  yell  of  the  liyena  and  tlie  bear.f 

*  This  reprcFenta  tho  chalk  formation,  embracing  the  uppermost  strata  of  the  Creta- 
ceous system — the  highest  in  tlie  Secondary  period.  The  chalk  strat-a  were  evidently  de- 
posited in  an  ocoan  tliat  muft  have  covered,  for  many  apes,  the  gr«>uter  part  of  what  is 
now  central  and  southern  Europe. 

t  This  repreHonts  the  uppermost  fomuitions  of  the  Tertiary  period— the  pliocene. 


1st  DiV.  OF GEOLOGY.  475 

5.  "  And  another  epoch  passed  away,  and  I  came  again  to 
the  scene  of  my  former  contemplations,  and  all  the  mighty 
forms  which  I  had  left  had  disappeared ;  the  face  of  the  coun- 
try no  longer  presented  the  same  aspect ;  it  was  broken  into 
islands,  and  the  bottom  of  the  sea  had  become  dry  land,  and 
what  before  was  dry  land  had  sunk  beneath  the  waves. 
Herds  of  deer  were  still  to  be  seen  on  the  plains,  with  swine, 
and  horses,  and  oxen ;  and  wolves  in  the  woods  and  forests. 
And  I  beheld  human  beings  clad  in  the  skins  of  animals,  and. 
armed  with  clubs  and  spears ;  and  they  had  formed  them- 
selves habitations  in  caves,  constructed  huts  for  shelter,  in- 
closed pastures  for  cattle,  and  were  endeavoring  to  cultivate 
the  soil.* 

6.  "And  a  thousand  years  elapsed,  and  I  revisited  the 
country,  and  a  village  had  been  built  upon  the  sea-shore,  and 
its  inhabitants  supported  themselves  by  fishing ;  and  they  had 
erected  a  temple  on  the  neighboring  hill,  and  dedicated  it  to 
their  patron  saint.  And  the  adjacent  country  was  studded 
with  towns  and  villages ;  and  the  downs  were  covered  with 
flocks,  and  the  valleys  with  herds,  and  the  corn-fields  and 
pastures  were  in  a  high  state  of  cultivation,  denoting  an  in- 
dustrious and  peaceful  community.f 

7.  "  And,  lastly,  after  an  interval  of  many  centuries,  I  ar- 
rived once  more,  and  the  village  was  swept  away,  and  its  site 
covered  by  the  waves ;  but  in  the  valley  and  on  the  hills 
above  the  cliffs  a  beautiful  city  appeared,  with  its  palaces,  its 
temples,  and  its  thousand  edifices,  and  its  streets  teeming 
with  a  busy  population  in  the  highest  state  of  civilization ; 
the  resort  of  the  nobles  of  the  land,  the  residence  of  the  mon- 
arch of  a  mighty  empire.  And  I  perceived  many  of  its  intel- 
ligent inhabitants  gathering  together  the  vestiges  of  the  be- 
ings which  had  lived  and  died,  and  whose  very  forms  were 
now  obliterated  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  endeavoring, 
by  these  natural  memorials,  to  trace  the  succession  of  those 
events  of  which  I  had  been  the  witness,  and  which  had  pre- 
ceded the  history  of  their  race."J 

•  This  represents  the  earlier  periods  of  the  Alluvium — what  Hugh  Miller  calls  the 
^^ stove  age;"  in  which  are  found,  in  the  British  Isles,  remains  of  man,  with  weapons  and 
utensils  of  stone. 

t  This  represents  a  period  subsequent  to  the  Eoman  invasion,  when  the  inhabitants  of 
Britain  had  utensils  and  weapons  formed  of  iron.  Before  the  Conquest  the  fishing  town 
of  Brighton  was  on  a  terrace  of  beacli  and  sand  (which  the  ocean  had  abandone*])  on  the 
Sussex  coast ;  and  the  church  of  St.  Nicholas  stood  inland  on  a  neighboring  cliff,  whicli 
showed  tlie  mark  of  the  waves  at  its  ba^e. 

t  This  represents  the  present  era.  The  old  fishing-town  of  Brighton  is  now  covered  by 
the  seji,  which  has  resumed  its  ancient  position  at  the  base  of  the  cliffs  ;  and  a  great  city 
(London)  has  grown  up  a  little  farther  inland — the  metropolis  of  a  mighty  empire. 


470  WILLSON'b   fifth   KEADEK.  Paht  X. 


LESSON   XI. — THE  VISION   OF  MOSES. 

1.  Most  geologists  suppose  that  the  "  six  days"  work  of 
the  creation,  as  described  in  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis,  were 
a  connected  series  of  so  many  proj^hetic  visions — a  kind  of 
diorama  which  passed  before  the  prophet  Moses — unfolding 
to  him,  in  this  inspired  manner,  the  record  of  the  works  of 
the  Almighty.  The  celebrated  geologist  Hugh  Miller — a 
Christian  and  a  scholar — has  drawn  a  portraiture  of  this  vi- 
sion in  language  so  beautiful  that  we  can  not  forbear  to  in- 
sert it  here.  He  supposes  the  "first  day"  to  represent  that 
"  Primary  period"  ushered  in  by  the  first  morn  which  dawn- 
ed after  a  long  night  of  chaos,  and  during  which  no  life  ap- 
pears upon  our  planet. 

2.  "Let  us  suppose  that  the  creative  vision  took  place  far  from  man,  in 
an  untrodden  recess  of  the  Midian  desert,  ere  yet  the  vision  of  the  burning 
bush  had  been  vouchsafed,  and  that,  as  in  the  vision  of  St,  John  in  Patmos, 
voices  were  mingled  with  scenes,  and  the  ear  as  certainly  addressed  as  the 
eye.  A  'great  darkness'  first  falls  upon  the  prophet,  like  that  which  in  an 
earlier  age  fell  upon  Abraham,  but  without  the  '  horror ;'  and,  as  the  Di- 
vine Spirit  moves  on  the  face  of  the  wildly-troubled  waters,  like  a  visible 
aurora  enveloped  by  the  pitchy  cloud,  the  gi'eat  doctrine  is  orally  enunci- 
ated, that  *in  the  beginning  God  created  the  heavens  and  the  earth.' 

3.  *'  Unreckoned  ages,  condensed  in  the  vision  into  a  few  brief  moments, 
pass  away;  the  creative  voice  is  again  heard,  'Let  there  be  light,'  and 
straightway  a  gray  diffused  light  springs  up  in  the  east,  and,  casting  its 
sickly  gleam  over  a  cloud-limited  expanse  of  steaming  vaporous  sea,  jour- 
neys through  the  heavens  toward  the  west.  One  heavy,  sunless  day  is 
made  the  representative  of  myriads :  the  faint  light  waxes  fainter — it  sinks 
beneath  the  dim,  undefined  horizon ;  the  first  scene  of  the  drama  closes 
upon  the  seer ;  and  he  sits  a  while  on  his  hill-top  in  darkness,  solitary,  but 
not  sad,  in  what  seems  to  be  a  calm  and  starless  night." 

4.  The  "  second  day"  is  supposed  to  open  about  the  close 
of  the  Transition  period,  when  only  a  few  plants  and  marine 
animals  had  appeared,  and  the  view  of  the  prophet  rested 
upon  a  dark  waste  of  troubled  waters. 

"The  light  again  brightens:  it  is  day;  and  over  an  expanse  of  ocean 
without  visible  bound,  the  horizon  has  become  wider  and  sharper  of  outline 
than  before.  There  is  life  in  that  great  sea — invertebrate,  mayhap  also  ich- 
thyic  life;  but  from  the  comparative  distance  of  the  ])oint  of  view  occupied 
by  the  prophet,  only  the  slow  roll  of  its  waves  can  l>e  discerned,  as  they  rise 
and  fall  in  long  undulations  before  a  gentle  gale ;  and  what  most  strongly 
impresses  the,  eye  is  the  change  which  has  taken  place  in  the  atmospheric 
scenery. 

6.  "  That  lower  stratum  of  the  heavens  occupied  in  the  previous  vision 
by  seething  steam,  or  gray,  smoke-like  fog,  is  clear  and  transparent ;  and 
only  in  an  u]ipor  region,  where  the  previously  invisible  vapor  of  the  tepid 


1st  DlV.  OF GEOLOGY.  477 

sea  has  thickened  in  the  cold,  do  the  clouds  appear.  But  there,  in  the 
higher  strata  of  the  atmosphere,  they  lie,  thick  and  manifold,  an  upper  sea 
of  great  waves,  separated  from  those  beneath  by  the  transparent  firmament, 
and,  like  them  too,  impelled  in  rolling  masses  by  the  wind.  A  mighty  ad- 
vance has  taken  place  in  creation ;  but  its  most  conspicuous  optical  sign  is 
the  existence  of  a  transparent  atmosphere,  of  a  firmament  stretched  out 
over  the  earth,  that  separates  the  waters  above  from  the  waters  below.  But 
darkness  descends  for  -the  third  time  upon  the  seer,  for  the  evening  and 
the  morning  have  completed  the  second  day."  / 

6.  The  "  third  day"  is  supposed  to  have  dawned  upon  that 
early  part  of  the  "  Secondary  period"  when  the  Carbonifer- 
ous era  had  covered  the  earth  with  a  wonderfully  gigantic 
and  abundant  vegetation. 

7.  "Yet  again  the  light  rises  under  a  canopy  of  cloud ;  but  the  scene 
has  changed,  and  there  is  no  longer  an  unbroken  expanse  of  sea.  The 
white  surf  breaks,  at  the  distant  horizon,  on  an  insulated  reef,  formed  may- 
hap by  the  Silurian  or  old  red  coral  zoophytes  ages  before,  during  the  by- 
gone yesterday,  and  beats  in  long  lines  of  foam,  nearer  at  hand,  against  a 
low,  winding  shore,  the  seaward  barrier  of  a  widely-spread  country.  For 
at  the  Divine  command  the  land  has  arisen  from  the  deep ;  not  inconspic- 
uously and  in  scattered  islets,  as  at  an  earlier  time,  but  in  extensive,  though 
flat  and  marshy  continents,  little  raised  over  the  sea-level ;  and  a  yet  far- 
ther fiat  has  covered  them  with  the  great  Carboniferous  flora. 

8.  "  The  scene  is  one  of  mighty  forests  of  cone-bearing  trees — of  palms, 
and  tree  ferns,  and  gigantic  club  mosses  on  the  opener  slopes,  and  of  great 
reeds  clustering  by  the  sides  of  quiet  lakes  and  dark  rolling  rivers.  There 
is  deep  gloom  in  the  recesses  of  the  thicker  woods,  and  low  thick  mists 
creep  along  the  dank  marsh  or  sluggish  stream.  But  there  is  a  general 
lightening  of  the  sky  overhead;  and,  as  the  day  declines,  a  redder  flush 
than  had  hitherto  lighted  up  the  prospect  falls  athwart  fern-covered  bank 
and  long-withdrawing  glade  " 

9.  The  "  fourth  day"  is  supposed  to  have  dawned  upon  the 
middle  of  the  Secondary  period — perhaps  the  Saliferous  era — 
and  the  vision,  like  that  of  the  second  day,  pertains  not  to 
the  earth,  but  to  the  heavens ;  as  the  vast  mantle  of  cloud 
and  dense  vapor  that  had  hitherto  enveloped  the  earth  had 
then  disappeared,  and  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have  first  become  visible  to  the  prophet. 

10.  "And  while  the  fourth  evening  has  fallen  on  the  prophet,  he  be- 
comes sensible,  as  it  wears  on,  and  the  fourth  dawn  approaches,  that  yet  an- 
other change  has  taken  place.  The  Creator  has  spoken,  and  the  stars  look 
out  from  openings  of  deep  unclouded  blue ;  and  as  day  rises,  and  the  planet 
of  morning  pales  in  the  east,  the  broken  cloudlets  are  transmuted  from 
bronze  into  gold,  and  anon  the  gold  becomes  fire,  and  at  length  the  glori- 
ous sun  rises  out  of  the  sea,  and  enters  on  his  course  rejoicing.  It  is  a 
brilliant  day ;  the  waves,  of  a  deeper  and  softer  hue  than  before,  dance  and 
sparkle  in  the  light ;  the  earth,  with  little  else  to  attract  the  gaze,  has  as- 
sumed a  garb  of  brighter  green ;  and  as  the  sun  declines  amid  even  richer 
glories  than  those  which  had  encircled  his  rising,  the  moon  appears  full- 
orbed  in  the  east — to  the  human  eye  the  second  great  luminary  of  the  heav- 
ens— and  climbs  slowly  to  the  zenith  as  night  advances,  shedding  its  mild 
radiance  on  land  and  sea." 


478  willson's  fifth  eeadek.  PartX. 

11.  The  vision  of  the  "fifth  day"  may  be  siipposed  to  open 
upon  the  latter  part  of  the  Secondary  period,  the  "  Age  of 
Reptiles." 

"Again  the  day  breaks;  the  prospect  consists,  as  before,  of  land  and 
ocean.  There  are  great  pine  woods,  recd-covered  swamps,  wide  plains, 
winding  rivers,  and  broad  lakes;  and  a  bright  sun  shines  over  all.  But 
the  landscape  derives  its  interest  and  novelty  from  g,  feature  unmarked  be- 
fore. Gigantic  birds  stalk  along  the  sands,  or  wade  far  into  the  water  in 
quest  of  their  ichthyic  food ;  while  birds  of  lesser  size  float  upon  the  lakes, 
.or  scream  discordant  in  hovering  flocks,  thick  as  insects  in  the  calm  of  u 
summer  evening,  over  the  naiTower  seas,  or  brighten  with  the  sunlit  gleam 
of  their  wings  the  thick  woods. 

12.  "And  ocean  has  its  monsters:  great  Hanninim'  tempest  the  deep 
as  they  heave  their  huge  bulk  over  the  surface  to  inhale  the  life-sustaining 
air ;  and  out  of  their  nostrils  goeth  smoke,  as  out  of  a  '  seething  pot  or  cal- 
dron.' Monstrous  creatures  armed  in  masgivc  scales  haunt  the  rivers,  or 
scour  the  flat,  rank  meadows ;  earth,  air,  and  water  are  charged  with  ani- 
mal life ;  and  the  sun  sets  on  a  busy  scene,  in  which  unerring  instinct  pur- 
sues unremittingly  its  few  simple  ends,  the  support  and  preservation  of  the 
individual,  the  propagation  of  the  species,  and  the  protection  and  mainte- 
nance of  the  young." 

13.  The  vision  of  the  "  sixth  day"  may  be  supposed  to 
open  near  the  close  of  the  Tertiary  period,  when  gigantic 
mammals  possessed  the  earth.  To  the  evening  of  this  sixth 
day,  in  the  eras  of  the  Drift  and  Alluvium,  man  belongs — at 
once  the  last  created  of  terrestrial  creatures,  and  infinitely  be- 
yond comparison  the  most  elevated  in  the  scale ;  and  with 
man's  appearance  on  the  scene  the  days  of  creation  end,  and 
the  Divine  Sabbath  begins. 

14.  "Again  the  night  descends,  for  the  fifth  day  has  closed ;  and  morn- 
ing breaks  on  the  sixth  and  last  day  of  creation.  Cattle  and  beasts  of  the 
fields  graze  on  the  ])lains ;  the  thick-skinned  rhinoceros  wallows  in  the 
marshes ;  the  squat  hippopotamus  rustles  among  the  reeds,  or  j)lunges  sul- 
lenly into  the  river;  great  herds  of  elephants  seek  their  food  amid  the 
young  herbage  of  the  woods;  while  animals  of  fiercer  nature — the  lion, 
the  leopard,  and  the  bear — harbor  in  deep  caves  till  the  evening,  or  lie  in 
wait  for  their  prey  amid  tangled  thickets  or  beneath  some  broken  bank. 

15.  "At  length,  as  the  day  wanes  and  the  shadows  lengthen,  man,  the 
resi)onsible  lord  of  creation,  formed  in  God's  own  image,  is  introduced  upon 
the  scene,  and  the  work  of  creation  ceases  forever  upon  the  earth.  The 
night  falls  once  more  upon  the  jjrospect,  and  there  dawns  yet  another  mor- 
row— the  morrow  of  God's  rest — that  Divine  Sabbath  in  which  there  is  no 
more  creative  labor,  and  which,  "blessed  and  sanctified"  beyond  all  the 
days  that  had  gone  before,  has  as  its  special  object  the  moral  elevation  and 
redemption  of  man.  And  over  it  no  evening  is  represented  in  the  record 
as  falling,  for  its  special  work  is  not  yet  complete. 

IG.  "  Such  seems  to  have  been  the  sublime  panorama  of  creation  exhib- 
ited in  vision  of  old  to 

'  The  plipphprd  who  first  taught  the  cho?cn  need 
In  the  l)egitining  how  the  heavena  and  earth 
Kosc  out  of  chaoe,' 


IstDlV.  OF GEOLOGY.  479 

and,  rightly  understood,  I  know  not  a  single  scientific  truth  that  militates 
against  even  the  minutest  or  least  prominent  of  its  details. " 


LESSOIN"   XII. — GEOLOGICAL   AGENCIES   NOW  IN    OPERATION. 

1.  Having  briefly  sketched  the  geological  changes  through 
which  the  crust  or  shell  of  our  planet  has  passed  during  the 
myriads  of  ages  of  its  past  history,  it  will  now  be  interesting 
to  consider  the  geological  agencies  still  in  operation,  which 
are  continually  producing  new  changes. 

2.  The  atmosphere  itself,  with  its  alternations  of  heat  and 
cold,  dryness  and  moisture,  wind  and  rain,  storms  and  tem- 
j)ests,  is  gradually  but  constantly  acting  on  the  hardest  rocks, 
causing  them  to  crumble  and  become  soluble,  and  thus  jDre- 
paring  them,  as  soil,  to  enter  into  the  minute  rootlets  of  plants 
and  nourish  their  growth.  Thus  hills  and  mountains  are 
wearing  down  by  atmospheric  agencies,  and  the  rain,  the  riv- 
ers, and  the  floods,  are  bearing  the  particles  which  compose 
them  to  the  ocean.  One  of  the  first  lessons  which  geology 
teaches  is,  that  lofty  mountains, 

"  Whose  tops  appear  to  shroud 
Their  granite  peaks  deep  in  tlie  vapory  cloud. 
Worn  by  the  tempests,  wasted  by  the  rains, 
Sink  slowly  down  to  fill  wide  ocean's  plains. 
The  ocean's  deeps  new  lands  again  display, 
And  life  and  beauty  drink  the  light  of  day." 

3.  In  this  manner  the  land  at  the  mouths  of  large  rivers 
sometimes  rapidly  encroaches  upon  the  sea.  The  delta  of 
the  Kile,  formed  of  the  mud,  and  sand,  and  gravel  brought 
down  from  the  high  lands  and  mountains  of  the  interior,  is 
nearly  as  large  as  the  state  of  Vermont :  most  of  the  lower 
part  of  Louisiana  is  the  gift  of  the  Mississippi ;  and  it  is  stated 
that  the  annual  deposit  made  by  the  waters  of  that  river  is 
sufticient  to  cover  a  township  of  six  miles  square  to  the  depth 
of  thirty  feet.  The  Amazon  brings  down  a  still  greater 
amount  of  materials,  which,  instead  of  forming  a  delta,  are 
borne  away  by  the  ocean  currents,  serving  to  fill  up  "  ocean's 
plains,"  or  perhaps  to  form  new  lands  on  distant  shores. 

4.  The  civil  engineer  who  has  seen  his  firm  piers  and  walls 
demolished  by  the  tremendous  waves  of  an  ocean  storm,  can 
well  appreciate  their  powerful  action  as  agents  in  modifying 
the  rocky  and  earthy  structure  of  the  globe.  In  the  Isle  of 
Man  a  rock  weighing  two  hundred  pounds  was  lifted  from  its 
place  and  carried  inland  on  a  high  wave  of  the  sea ;  and  in  the 
Hebrides  a  block  of  forty-two  tons  was  moved  several  feet 
by  the  force  of  the  waves.     The  "  stern  and  rock-bound  coast" 


480  willson's  fifth  eeader.  Part  X. 

of  the  ocean  every  where  feels  the  abrading  power  of  the 
waves,  as  is  shown  by  such  projections  as  the  "  Pulpit  Rock" 
at  Nahaut,  and  others  equally  picturesque  along  our  whole 
Atlantic  coast. 

5.  The  sands  and  pebbles  that  are  now  so  abundant  in  sand 
and  gravel  beds,  were  once  broken  from  rocks,  and  worn  into 
their  present  rounded  forms  by  constant  rubbing  against  each 
other  in  water.  A  history  of  one  of  these  little  pebbles — 
torn  from  some  mountain  peak  of  ancient  continent  by  gla- 
cier, or  avalanche,  or  frost,  or  tempest — making  its  way  down- 
ward by  mountain  currents — borne  onward  by  some  ancient 
river  to  the  ocean — ^buffeted  there  by  the  waves  for  ages,  and 
finally  deposited  in  some  gravel-bed,  would  form  an  inter- 
esting picture  of  geological  changes,  which  has  myriads  of 
counterparts  in  the  slow  formation  of  sand  and  pebbles  in 
the  rivers  and  oceans  of  the  present  day. 

6.  "  A  wondrous  traveler  was  of  yore 

The  rounded  pebble-stone 
As  he  rolled  along  from  shore  to  shoie. 
In  rivers  now  unknown. 

7.  Where  ancient  forests  grew  and  waved, 

Where  ancient  streams  did  flow, 
That  little  pebble  journeyed  on, 
In  the  l-iver's  bed  below. 

ii.  Early  and  late  he  must  have  gone. 

No  rest  nor  sleep  had  he, 
Until  he  slept  in  his  gravel-bed 
Beneath  the  sounding  sea." 

9.  The  destroying  effects,  of  waves  have  been  disastrously 
exhibited  in  Holland,  a  country  lower  than  the  level  to  which 
the  bordering  sea  rises  during  high  tides  and  storms.  The 
author  of  Hudibras  has  humorously  described  Holland  as  a 
country  "  that  draws  fifty  feet  of  water ;"  but  the  inhabitants 
contrive  to  keep  the  sea  from  their  lands  by  dikes  or  em- 
bankments. Sometimes  the  dikes  are  inadequate  to  with- 
stand the  force  of  the  waters,  and  destructive  inundations 
lay  waste  large  districts  of  country.  On  the  17th  of  April, 
1446,  the  sea  broke  in  at  Dort,  and  destroyed  seventy-two 
villages  and  one  hundred  thousand  people.  At  this  time  a 
large  part  of  the  Zuyder  Zee  was  formed.  In  1530  another 
great  inundation  occurred,  in  which  four  hundred  thousand 
people  are  said  to  have  perished. 

10.  The  effects  of  glaciers  and  mountain  slides  in  changing 
the  aspects  of  mountain  scenery  have  already  been  alluded 
to  in  the  division  on  Physical  Geography.  Icebergs  are  gla- 
ciers formed  in  the  higher  latitudes  along  the  coasts  and  in 
bays ;  and  when  torn  from  their  moorings  they  often  bear 


IstDlV.OP GEOLOGY.  481 

away  with  them  immense  rocks  and  masses  of  earth,  which 
they  deposit  in  distant  parts  of  the  ocean. 

11.  Volcanoes  and  earthquakes  are  the  most  terrible  in 
their  effects  of  all  geological  agencies ;  but  the  actual  geo- 
logical changes  which  they  produce  are  much  less  important 
than  those  occasioned  by  what  are  apparently  the  most  in- 
significant of  animals — the  little  coral  polypes,  shell-fish,  and 
invisible  animalcules.  The  latter  minute  organisms,  so  small 
that  millions  of  them  might  sport  freely  in  a  drop  of  water, 
are  now,  as  in  ages  past,  important  geological  agencies,  float- 
ing in  the  air  we  breathe,  adding  to  the  soil  we  cultivate, 
and  forming  vast  layers  of  rocky  strata  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ocean. 

12.  The  rotten-stone  or  polishing  powder,  called  tripol% 
is  composed  of  the  flinty  shells  of  animalcules ;  and  there  are 
extensive  marl-beds  in  our  country  composed  of  similar  ma- 
terials. Eminent  geologists  have  expressed  the  belief  that 
all  the  lime  of  our  marble-quarries  and  chalk-beds  has  been 
formed  of  the  shells  of  organized  bodies — probably  deposited 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  as  lime-beds  are  now  forming 
there. 

"  The  earth  that's  Nature's  mother  is  her  tomb," 

is  the  scientific  assertion  of  Shakspeare;  and  even  the  con- 
templative Young  inquires, 

"  Wliere  is  the  dust  that  has  not  been  alive?" 

13.  The  coral-building  animals  have  been  partially  described 
in  the  division  on  Physical  Geography ;  but  we  are  now  pre- 
pared to  regard  them  as  the  most  important  of  all  geological 
agents.  They  are  actually  filling  up  portions  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean :  coral  islands  are  now  numbered  there  by  thousands, 
and  coral  reefs  are  hundreds  of  miles  in  extent ;  and  if  the 
slow  operations  of  these  little  animals  shall  continue  as  long 
as  some  of  the  geological  periods  which  we  have  noticed,  the 
result  will  be  a  new  continent  there. 


LESSON^    XIII. COEAL  ISLANDS. 

[See  Illustration,  p.  371.] 

1.  I  SAW  the  living  pile  ascend, 
The  mausoleum  of  its  architects, 
Still  dying  upward  as  their  labors  closed ; 
Slime  the  material,  but  the  slime  was  turned 
To  adamant  by  their  petrific  touch. 
Frail  were  their  frames,  ephemeral  their  lives, 
X 


482  WILLSON's  FtbTH  BEADEE.  Part  X. 

Their  masonry  imperishable.     All 
Life's  needful  functions,  food,  exertion,  rest. 
By  wise  economy  of  Providence, 
Were  overruled,  to  carry  on  the  process 
Which  out  of  water  brought  forth  solid  rock. 

2.  Atom  by  atom,  thus  the  mountain  grew 
A  coral  island,  stretching  east  and  west ; 
Steep  were  the  flanks,  with  precipices  sharp, 
Descending  to  their  base  in  ocean  gloom. 
Chasms  few,  and  narrow,  and  irregular, 
Formed  harbors,  safe  at  once  and  perilous — 
Safe  for  defense,  but  perilous  to  enter. 

A  sea-lake  shone  amid  the  fossil  isle. 
Reflecting  in  a  ring  its  cliffs  and  caverns, 
With  heaven  itself  seen  in  a  lake  below. 

3.  Compared  with  this  amazing  edifice, 
Raised  by  the  weakest  creatures  in  existence, 
What  are  the  works  of  intellectual  man, 
His  temples,  palaces,  and  sepulchres  ? 

Dust  in  the  balance,  atoms  in  the  gale. 
Compared  with  these  achievements  in  the  deep, 
Were  all  the  monuments  of  olden  time. 

4.  Egypt's  gray  piles  of  hieroglyphic  grandeur. 

That  have  survived  the  language  which  they  speak, 

Preserving  its  dead  emblems  to  the  eye, 

Yet  hiding  from  the  eye  what  these  reveal; 

Her  pyramids  would  be  mere  pinnacles. 

Her  giant  statues,  wrought  from  rocks  of  granite, 

But  puny  ornaments  for  such  a  pile 

As  this  stupendous  mount  of  catacombs. 

Filled  with  dry  mummies  of  the  builder- worms. 

MONTGOMEBT. 


LESSON    XIV. GEOLOGICAL   MONUMENTS. 

If  we  look  with  wonder  upon  the  great  remains  of  human 
works,  such  as  the  columns  of  Palmyra,  broken  in  the  midst 
of  the  desert,  the  temples  of  Psestum,  beautiful  in  the  decay 
of  twenty  centuries,  or  the  mutilated  fragments  of  Greek 
sculpture  in  the  Acropolis  of  Athens,  or  in  our  own  museums, 
as  proofs  of  the  genius  of  artists,  and  power  and  riches  of 
nations  now  passed  away,  with  how  much  deeper  feeling  of 
admiration  must  we  consider  those  grand  monuments  of  na- 
ture which  mark  the  revolutions  of  the  globe — continents 
broken  into  islands ;  one  land  produced,  another  destroyed ; 
the  bottom  of  the  ocean  become  a  fertile  soil ;  w^iole  races 
of  animals  extinct,  and  the  bones  and  exuviic^  of  one  class 
covered  with  the  remains  of  another ;  and  upon  the  graves 


1st  Div.  OP GEOLOGY.  483 

of  past  generations — the  marble  or  rocky  tombs,  as  it  were, 
of  a  former  animated  world — new  generations  rising,  and  or- 
der and  harmony  established,  and  a  system  of  life  and  beauty 
produced  out  of  chaos  and  death,  proving  the  infinite  power, 
wisdom,  and  goodness  of  the  Geeat  Cause  of  all  things. — 
Sir  H.  Davy. 

1  Ex-u'-vi-^  (egz-yu'-ve-e)^  whatever  is,put  off,  or  shed  and  left,  by  animals  or  by  plants ; 
the  cast  skin,eheUs,  etc.,  of  animals. 


LESSON"  XY. — mineralogy:  the  alphabet  of  geology. 

SIMPLE  MINERALS. 

1.  In  tfte  language  of  geology,  all  natural  bodies  that  are 
neither  animal  nor  vegetable  are  called  minerals.  In  this 
view,  not  only  are  all  kinds  of  clay,  stones,  and  the  metals  to 
b^  considered  minerals,  but  water  also  must  be  included  in 
the  list.  If  the  earth  were  sufiiciently  heated,  the  rocks  them- 
selves would  melt  and  flow  like  water,  as  we  see  in  the  case 
of  melted  lava ;  and,  if  the  earth  were  sufficiently  cold,  we 
should  rarely  see  water,  except  in  the  rock-form  of  crystal- 
like masses  of  ice. 

2.  Mineralogy^  therefore,  whose  subject  is  minerals,  treats 
of  all  the  inorganic  substances  that  are  found  in  the  earth  or 
on  its  surface ;  it  arranges  and  classifies  them,  it  designates 
the  ingredients  of  which  they  are  composed,  and  it  describes 
their  properties.  Hence  minerals  are  the  very  alphabet  of 
geology;  and  mineralogy  is  only  a  branch  of  that  science 
whose  grand  historical  outlines  we  have  just  been  considering. 

3.  Of  what,  then,  are  the  materials  of  the  earth  composed? 
It  would  seem,  at  first  view,  that  they  must  be  almost  infinite 
in  number  and  variety ;  that  a  thousand  kinds  of  stone  and 
earth  might  easily  be  gathered,  and  that  no  limits  could  be 
assigned  to  the  extent  of  such  a  geological  collection.  But 
a  little  Examination  shows  that  this  vast  multitude  of  seem- 
ingly different  kinds  of  rock  and  earth,  and  clayey  and  marly 
soils,  is  composed  of  only  a  few  primary  ingredients,  although 
they  are  combined  in  a  great  variety  of  forms  and  propor- 
tions. 

4.  Mineralogy,  no  less  than  geology,  is  full  of  wonders ; 
one  of  the  greatest  of  which  is  that  the  life-sustaining  oxygen 
which  we  breathe  so  freely  in  pure  air  enters  so  largely  into 
the  composition  of  rocks  and  earths  as  to  constitute  owe  Aa//* 
of  the  solid  materials  of  our  globe !     This  is  the  first,  sim- 


484  wlllson's  fifth  reader.  Pakt  X. 

pie,  but  all-important  lesson  in  mineralogy.  A  second  lesson 
teaches  us  that,  out  of  nearly  sixty  pure  mineral  {Substances 
which  are  known,  six  of  them,  although  seldom  obtained  in 
a  separate  state,  are  found  so  largely  combined  with  this 
same  oxygen  as  to  form,  in  this  compound  state,  nineteen 
twentieths  of  all  the  rocks  and  earths  which  are  known. 
Thus  ten  twentieths  of  the  inorganic  parts  of  our  globe  are 
composed  of  oxygen ;  six  mineral  substances  go  to  make  up 
nine  twentieths  more;  and  the  remaining  one  twentieth  is 
composed  of  other  minerals. 

5.  The  six  mineral  substances,  or  mineral  bases,  to  which 
we  have  alluded,  have  been  named  silico7i,  calcium,  alumi- 
num, m.agnesium,, potassium,  and  sodium.  Thus  sil^on  unites 
with  oxygen  in  certain  proportions  to  form  the  well-known 
and  abundant  flinty  or  quartz  rock.  When  quartz  is  broken 
down  into  fine  grains,  and  consolidated  or  cemented  with 
oxyd  of  iron,  it  forms  sandstone  rock ;  and,  in  the  form  of 
finely-powdered  sand,  it  is  an  important  ingredient  in  the  soil 
we  cultivate.  Calcium  and  oxygen  form  lime;  and  when 
this  is  united  with  carbonic  acid,  the  result  is  limestone  rocJc, 
which  is  also  an  ingredient  of  our  best  soils.  Similar  combi- 
nations of  the  other  mineral  bases  with  oxygen  form  alumi- 
na, magnesia,  and  soda,  which  also  enter  to  a  considerable 
extent  into  the  composition  of  the  rocky  and  earthy  portions 
of  the  globe. 

6.  The  most  abundant  of  the  simple  minerals,  or  rocks,  as 
they  are  generally  called,  which  are  formed  chiefly  by  the 
simple  union  of  oxygen  with  the  six  mineral  substances  men- 
tioned, but  in  some  instances  by  additional  combinations,  arc 
quartz,  feldspar,  limestone,  hornblende,  mica,  talc,  and  serpen- 
tine ;  and  these  are  distinguished  and  described  by  their  col- 
or, and  their  several  degrees  of  lustre,  transparency,  specific 
gravity,  hardness,  fracture,  tenacity,  taste  when  soluble,  and 
odor  when  rubbed. 

7.  Of  these  minerals,  quartz,  which  enters  largelyfltato  the 
compound  minerals  or  rocks,  constitutes  by  itself  nearly  one 
half  of  the  crust  of  the  earth.  Pure  quartz,  which  is  crystal- 
lized silica,  scratches  glass  with  facility,  and  is  next  to  the  dia- 
mond in  hardness.  Flint  and  rock-crystal  are  well  known 
forms  of  this  mineral,  but  it  occurs  in  numerQus  other  varie- 
ties ;  and  when  colored  by  iron,  manganese,  chrome,  and  oth- 
er foreign  substances,  it  produces  many  valuable  gems  or  pre- 
cious stones,  such  as  opal,  jasper,  amethyst,  agates,  and  car- 
nelians.    The  sand  which  is  used  in  making  mortar  and  glass 


1st  Div.  OP GEOLOGY.  485 

is  mostly^^artz ;  and  in  what  is  called  silex  this  mineral  forms 
the  hara^^nty  covering  of  the  grasses. 

8.  Feldspar,  or  fieldspar,  which  contains  a  large  proportion 
of  alumina,  the  basis  of  clay,  composes  about  one  tenth  of  the 
crust  of  the  globe.  It  is  of  various  colors,  is  not  so  hard  as 
quartz,  and  is  less  glassy  in  appearance.  It  is  used  extensively 
in  the  manufacture  of  porcelain.  Common  clay  is  impure  de- 
composed feldspar. 

9.  Limestone,  forming  about  one  seventh  of  the  crust  of 
the  earth,  presents  numerous  varieties — from  the  common 
chalk,  cavern  stalactites,  and  coarse  limestone  rock,  to  the 
beautiful  crystalline  spars  and  the  finest  marble. 

10.  Hornblende,  a  tough  mineral,  as  implied  in  the  name  it 
bears,  constitutes  a  large  part  of  the  rocks  of  volcanic  origin 
and  some  of  the  older  slate  rocks.  It  forms  about  one  fif- 
teenth of  the  crust  of  the  earth.  One  of  its  varieties  is  the 
remarkable  asbestus,  whose  slender  fibres  may  be  woven  into 
cloth  which  will  be  incombustible. 

11.  Mica,  often  improperly  called  isinglass,  is  a  soft  min- 
eral, usually  of  a  light  green  color,  and  is  about  as  abundant 
as  hornblende.  Thin  plates  of  it  are  often  used  for  lanterns 
and  stove  windows. 

12.  Talc  resembles  mica,  but  is  softer,  and  may  be  easily 
cut  with  a  knife.  Steatite,  or  soap-stone,  one  of  its  varieties, 
is  extensively  used  for  fireplaces  and  stove  linings. 

13.  Serpentine,  which  is  of  various  colors,  is  harder  than 
limestone.  Its  finer  varieties,  which  admit  a  high  polish,  are 
an  elegant  substitute  for  marble. 

14.  Gypsum,  or  "  plaster  of  Paris,"  rocJc-salt,  and  coal, 
complete  the  list  of  minerals  which  form  any  considerable 
portion  of  the  earth's  crust. 


LESSON  XYI. — COMPOUND  minerals. 

1.  Granite,  which  forms  so  large  a  proportion  of  the  pri- 
mary rocks,  is  a  crystalline  aggregate  of  quartz,  feldspar,  and 
mica.  It  is  a  very  hard  and  durable  rock,  and  is  much  used 
in  building  and  for  pavements.  Granite  seems  to  be  the 
general  foundation-stone  or  underpinning  of  the  other  rocks, 
and  it  is  also  found  as  high  as  the  summit  of  Mount  Blanc. 

2.  Granite  is  abundant  in  New  England.  The  most  cele- 
brated quarries  are  at  Quincy,  Mass.  The  Quincy  granite, 
however,  is  not  properly  a  granite,  but  a  syenite,  in  whicli 


486  willson's  fifth  reader.  PabtX. 

hornblende  takes  the  place  of  mica.  Bunker  Hill  ]^<munient, 
the  Astor  House  in  New  York  City,  and  the  dry;|^cks  at 
the  Charlestown  and  Gosport  Navy-yards,  are  constructed 
of  this  rock.  Granite  is  also  found  abundantly,  and  of  the 
finest  quality,  in  Virginia,  Georgia,  and  other  states. 

3.  There  is  an  unstratified  igneous  rock,  called  j)orphyry^ 
which  is  of  a  reddish  color,  and  contains  crystals  of  feldspar. 
Another  compound  rock  is  Q2iX}iQ^  jpudding-stone.  It  is  a  con- 
glomerate of  rounded  pebbles  cemented  together  by  fine- 
grained sandy  paste.  When  cut  and  polished,  it  resembles 
in  appearance  a  slice  of  plum-pudding,  and  is  much  used  for 
ornamental  purposes.   ' 

4.  Amygdaloid  is  a  rock  containing  almond-shaped  cavi- 
ties. These  cavities  have  been  formed  by  the  escape  of  gases 
as  the  rock  cooled  down  from  a  melted  state.  The  rock  itself 
is  evidently  a  kind  of  solidified  lava,  and  the  cavities  have 
been  subsequently  filled  with  some  mineral  matter,  as  quartz, 
lime,  or  agate. 

5.  Breccia  is  composed  of  angular  fragments  which  once 
constituted  other  rocks.  It  differs  from  pudding-stone  in 
not  having  the  fragments  worn  into  the  form  of  pebbles. 
The  Potomac  marble,  of  which  fine  specimens  are  seen  in  the 
old  national  Capitol  at  Washington,  is  a  kind  of  breccia.'^ 
Brecciated^  marble  from  Vermont  and  Tennessee  have  been 
extensively  used  in  the  interior  of  the  new  United  States 
Capitol. 

The  composition  of  these  rocks  has  been  presented  in  the 
following  recipes  for  Geological  Cookery  : 

6.  To  make  Granite. 

Of  feldspar  and  quartz  a  large  quantity  take, 
Tiien  pepper  with  mica,  and  mix  up  and  bake. 
This  granite  for  common  occasions  is  good ; 
But  on  saint's  days  and  Sundays,  be  it  understood, 
If  with  bishops  and  lords  in  tlie  state-room  you  dine, 
Then  sprinkle  with  topaz,  or  else  tourmaline. 

Y.  To  make  Porphyry. 

'         Let  silex  and  argil  be  well  kneaded  doviTi, 

Then  color  at  pleasure,  red,  gray,  green,  or  brown ; 
When  the  paste  is  all  ready,  stick  in  here  and  there 
Small  crystals  of  feldspar,  both  oblong  and  square. 

8.  To  make  Pudding-stone. 

To  vary  your  dishes,  and  shun  any  waste. 
Should  you  have  any  left  of  the  very  same  paste, 
You  may  make  a  plum-pudding ;  but,  then,  do  not  stint 
The  qunntum  of  ])ebbles — clicrt,  jasper,  or  Hint. 


1st  Div.  OP GEOLOGY.  487 

9.  ~  To  make  Amygdaloid. 

Take  a  mountain  of  trap,  somewhat  softish  and  green, 
In  which  bladder-shaped  holes  may  be  every  where  seen  ; 
Choose  a  part  where  these  holes  are  decidedly  void  all, 
Pour  silex  in  these,  to  form  agates  spheroidal, 
And  the  mass  in  a  trice  will  be  amygdaloidal. 

10.  To  make  a  good  Breccia. 

Break  your  rocks  in  sharp  fragments,  preserving  the  angles ; 
Of  mica  or  quartz  you  may  add  a  few  spangles ; 
Then  let  your  white  batter  be  well  filtered  through. 
Till  the  parts  stick  as  firm  as  if  fastened  by  glue. 

11.  To  make  a  coarser  Breccia. 

For  a  breccia  more  coarse  you  may  vary  your  matter ; 
Pound  clay,  quartz,  and  iron-stone,  moistened  with  water : 
\  Pour  these  on  your  fragments,  and  then  wait  a  while, 

Till  the  oxyd  of  iron  is  red  as  a  tile. 

1  Bbb€'-oia  (pronounced  Brek'-sha).        2  Beec'-cia-ted  (pronounced  BreTc'-sh6-dt-ed). 


LESSON    XVII.— BRIEF   EXTEACTS. 

1.  "Geology,  in  the  magnitude  and  sublimity  of  the  ob- 
jects of  which  it  treats,  undoubtedly  ranks  next  to  astrono- 
my in  the  scale  of  the  sciences." — Sir  J.  F.  W.  Herschjj^. 

2.  "Every  rock  in  the  desert,  every  boulder  on  the  pRo, 
every  pebble  by  the  brook  side,  every  grain  of  sand  on  the 
sea-shore,  is  replete  with  lessons  of  wisdom  to  the  mind  that 
is  fitted  to  receive  and  comprehend  their  sublime  import." 

3.  "The  very  ground  on  which  we  tread,  and  the  mount- 
ains which  surround  us,  may  be  regarded  as  vast  tumuli,  in 
which  the  organic  remains  of  a  former  world  are  enshrined." 
— Parkinson. 

4.  "To  the  natural  philosopher  the  rocks  and  the  mountains 
are  the  grand  monuments  of  nature,  on  which  is  inscribed 
the  history  of  the  physical  revolutions  of  the  globe,  which  took 
place  in  periods  incalculably  remote,  and  long  antecedent  to 
the  creation  of  the  human  race.  They  present  to  his  mind  a 
succession  of  events,  each  so  vast  as  to  be  beyond  his  finite 
comprehension ;  ages  of  tranquillity,  with  lands  and  seas  teem- 
ing with  life  and  happiness,  succeeded  by  periods  in  which 
the  earthquake  and  the  volcano  spread  universal  ruin  and  de- 
struction ;  and  they  teach  him  that  all  these  awful  changes 
bear  the  impress  of  the  Almighty  hand,  and  were  subservient 
to  the  eternal  purpose  of  rendering  this  planet  the  fit  abode 
of  MAN  during  his  mortal  pilgrimage."-— Mantell. 


488  willson's  fifth  reader.  PautX. 


LESSON  XVIIL—CONCLUDING  eemarks. 

[From  the  conclusion  of  Mantell's  Wonders  of  Geology.^ 

1.  With  these  remarks,  I  conclude  this  attempt  to  combine 
a  general  view  of  geological  phenomena  with  a  familiar  ex- 
position of  the  inductions  by  which  the  leading  principles  of 
the  science  have  been  established.  And  if  I  have  succeeded 
in  explaining  in  a  satisfactory  manner  how,  by  laborious  and 
patient  investigation,  and  the  successful  application  of  other 
branches  of  natural  philosophy,  the  wonders  of  geology  have 
been  revealed — if  I  have  removed  but  from  one  intelligent 
mind  any  prejudice  against  scientific  inquiries  which  may 
have  been  excited  by  those  who  have  neither  the  relish  nor 
the  capacity  for  philosophical  pursuits — if  I  have  been  so  for- 
tunate as  to  kindle  in  the  hearts  of  others  that  intense  and 
enduring  love  and  admiration  of  natural  knowledge  which  I 
feel  in  my  own,  or  have  illuminated  the  mental  vision  with 
that  intellectual  lig\it  which,  once  kindled,  can  never  be  ex- 
tinguished, and  which  reveals  to  the  soul  the  beauty,  and 
wisdom,  and  harmony  of  the  works  of  the  Eternal,  I  shall  in- 
deed rejoice,  for  then  my  exertions  will  not  have  been  in  vain. 
AJ(  although  my  humble  name  may  be  soon  forgotten,  and 
all  record  of  my  labors  be  effaced,  yet  the  influence  of  that 
knowledge,  however  feeble  it  may  be,  which  has  emanated 
from  my  researches,  will  remain  forever,  and,  by  conducting 
to  new  and  inexhaustible  fields  of  inquiry,  prove  a  never-fail- 
ing source  of  the  most  pure  and  elevated  gratification. 

2.  It  is  indeed  the  peculiar  charm  and  privilege  of  natural 
philosophy  that  it 

Can  8o  inform 
The  mind  that  is  within  ns — so  impress 
With  quietness  and  beauty,  and  so  feed 
With  lofty  thoughts,  that  neither  evil  tonpnlc?, 
Rasli  judgments,  nor  the  sneers  of  selfish  men, 
Nor  greetings  where  no  kindness  is,  nor  all 
The  dreary  intercourse  of  common  life, 
Can  e'er  prevail  against  us,  or  disturb 
Our  cheerful  faith,  that  all  which  we  behold 
Is  full  of  blessings !— Woiipswoktu. 

For  to  one  imbued  with  a  taste  for  natural  science,  Nature 
unfolds  "her  hoarded  poetry  and  her  hidden  spells;"  for  him 
there  is  a  voice  in  the  winds  and  a  language  in  the  waves, 
and  he  is 

Even  as  one 
Who,  by  some  secret  gift  of  i»m\  or  eye, 
In  every  spot  lieneAth  the  smiling  sun," 

Sees  whore  the  ttjningn  o/  liiniKj  waters  lie  ! — IIrsianr. 


TENTH  MISCELLANEOUS  DIYISION. 


LESSON"   I.— THE   EAVEN. 

Edgar  A.  Poe. 

1.  Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered  weak  and  weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore — 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping, 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber  door. 

*'  'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "tapping  at  my  chamber  door — 

Only  this  and  nothing  more.' 

2.  Ah  !  distinctly  I  remember  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 

And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow ;  vainly  I  had  sought  to  borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow — sorrow  for  the  lof=t  Lcnore — 
X2 


490 

For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore — 

Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

3.  And  the  silken  sad  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain 
Thrilled  me — filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before ; 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating, 
"  'Tis  some  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door — 
Some  late  visitor  entreating  entrance  at  my  chamber  door ; 

This  it  is  and  nothing  more. 

4.  Presently  my  soul  grew  stronger ;  hesitating  then  no  longer, 
*'  Sir,"  said  I,  "  or  madam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  implore ; 
But  the  fact  is  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came  rapping, 
And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber  door, 
That  I  scarce  was  sure  I  heard  you" — here  I  opened  wide  the  door — 

Darkness  there  and  nothing  more. 

5.  Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  l^B^  stood  there  wondering,  fearing. 
Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  momrever  dared  to  dream  before ; 
But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  stillness  gave  no  token, 

And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whispered  word  "Lenore?" 
This  I  whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured  back  the  word  "Lenore!" — 

Merely  this  and  nothing  more. 

6.  Back  into  the  chamber  turning,  all  my  soul  within  me  burning. 
Soon  again  I  heard  a  tapping  something  louder  than  before. 
"Surely," said  I,  "surely  that  is  something  at  my  window  lattice; 
Let  me  see,  then,  what  thereat  is  and  this  mystery  explore — 

Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment  and  this  mystery  explore — 

'Tis  the  wind  and  nothing  more. 

7.  Open  here  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 
In  there  stepped  a  stately  raven  of  the  saintly  days  of  yore. 

Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he ;  not  a  minute  stopped  or  stayed  he ; 
But,  with  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  chamber  door — 
Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber  door — 

Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

8.  Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 
By  the  grave  and  stern  decorum  of  the  countenance  it  wore, 
"Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,"  I  said,  "art  sure  no 

craven, 
Ghastly  grim  and  ancient  raven  wandering  from  the  nightly  shore — 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  night's  Plutonian  shore  I" 

Quoth  the  raven,  "Nevermore." 

9.  Much  I  marveled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so  plainly. 
Though  its  answer  little  meaning — little  relevancy  bore ; 

For  we  can  not  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 

Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber  door — 

Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber  door. 

With  such  name  as  "Nevermore." 

lO.  But  the  raven,  sitting  lonely  on  that  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as  if  his  soul  in  that  one  word  he  did  outpour. 
Nothing  farther  then  he  uttered — not  a  feather  then  he  fluttered — 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered,  "  Other  friends  have  flown  before — 
On  the  morrow  he  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes  have  flown  before." 

Then  the  bird  said  "Nevermore." 


TENTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  491 

11.  Startled  at  the  stillness  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 

" Doubtless," saidi,  "what  it  utters  is  its  only  stock  and  store, 
Caught  from  some  unhappy  master  whom  unmerciful  disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster  till  his  songs  one  burden  bore — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore 

Of  '  Never — nevermore. ' " 

12.  But  the  raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into  smiling. 

Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird,  and  bust,  and  door ; 
Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto  fancy,  thinking  what  this  ominous  bird  of  yore — 
What  this  grim,  tlngainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,  and  ominous  bird  of  yore 

Meant  in  croaking  "Nevermore." 

13.  This  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 

To  the  fowl  whose  fiery  eyes  now  burned  into  my  bosom's  core ; 
This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  head  at  ease  reclining 
On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamplight  gloated  o'er, 
But  whose  velvet  violet  lining  with  the  lamplight  gloating  o'er 

She  shall  press,  ah !  nevermore. 

14.  Then,  methought,  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an  unseen  censer 
Swung  by  seraphim  whose  footfalls  tinkled  on  the  tufted  floor. 
"Wretch,"  I  cried,  "thy God  hath  lent  thee — by  these  angels  he  hath 

sent  thee 
Respite — respite  and  nepenthe  from  thy  memories  of  Lenore ! 
Quaff,  oh  quaff  this  kind  nepenthe  and  forget  this  lost  Lenore !" 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore." 

15.  "Prophet !"  said  I,  "thing  of  evil ! — prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! — 
AVhether  Tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  tossed  thee  here  ashore. 
Desolate  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchanted — 

On  this  home  by  horror  haunted — tell  me  truly,  I  implore — 

Is  there — is  there  balm  in  Gilead? — tell  me — tell  me,  I  implore !" 

Quoth  the  raven,  "Nevermore." 

16.  "  Prophet !"  said  I,  ' '  thing  of  evil — prophet  still,  if  bird  or  devil ! 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us — by  that  God  we  both  adore — 
Tell  this  soul  with  sorrow  laden  if,  within  the  distant  A^enn, 

It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore — 
Clasp  a  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  name  Lenore. " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "Nevermore." 

17.  "Be  that  word  our  sign  of  parting,  bird  or  fiend!"  I  shrieked,  up- 

starting— 
"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  night's  Plutonian  shore ! 
Leave  no  black  plume  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath  spoken ! 
Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken  ! — quit  the  bust  above  my  door  ! 
Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from  off  my  door !" 

Quoth  the  raven,  "Nevermore." 

18.  And  the  raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas  just  above  my  chamber  door ; 

And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's  that  is  dreaming, 
And  the  lamplight  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow  on  the  floor ; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the  floor 

Shall  be  lifted — nevermore ! 


492  WILLSON  S    FIFlil    llEADElt. 


LESSON   II. — THE   DIGNITY   OF  WOEK. 

1.  TuERE  is  a  perennial  nobleness,  and  even  sacredn§8S,  in 
work.  Were  he  never  so  benighted,  forgetful  of  his  high 
calling,  there  is  always  hope  in  a  man  that  actually  and  earn- 
estly works;  in  idleness  alone  is  there  perpetual  despair. 
Work,  never  so  mammonish,  mean,  is  in  communication  with 
Nature ;  the  real  desire  to  get  work  done  will  itself  lead  one 
more  and  more  to  truth,  to  Nature's  appointments  and  regu- 
lations which  are  truth. 

2.  All  true  work  is  sacred :  in  all  true  work,  were  it  but 
true  hand-labor,  there  is  something  of  divineness.  Labor, 
wide  as  the  earth,  has  its  summit  in  heaven.  Sweat  of  the 
brow ;  and  up  from  that  to  sweat  of  the  brain,  sweat  of  the 
heart ;  which  includes  all  Kepler  calculations,  Newton  med- 
itations, all  sciences,  all  spoken  epics,  all  acted  heroism,  mar- 
tyrdoms— up  to  that  '*  agony  of  bloody  sweat,"  which  all 
men  have  called  divine !  Oh  brother,  if  this  is  not  "  wor- 
ship," then  I  say,  the  more  pity  for  worship ;  for  this  is  the 
noblest  thing  yet  discovered  under  God's  sky. 

3.  Who  art  thou  that  complainest  of  thy  life  of  toil  ?  Com- 
plain not.  Look  up,  my  wearied  brother;  see  thy  fellow- 
workmen  there,  in  God's  eternity ;  surviving  there,  they  alone 
surviving :  sacred  band  of  the  immortals,  celestial  body-guard 
of  the  empire  of  mind.  Even  in  the  weak  human  memory 
they  survive  so  long,  as  saints,  as  heroes,  as  gods ;  they  alone 
surviving:  peopling,  they  alone,  the  immeasured  solitudes  of 
Time !  To  thee  Heaven,  though  severe,  is  7iot  unkind ;  Heav- 
en is  kind — as  a  noble  mother ;  as  that  Spartan  mother,  say- 
ing while  she  gave  her  son  his  shield,  "  With  it,  my  son,  or 
UPON  it!"  Thou,  too,  shalt  return  Aome,  in  honor  to  thy 
far-distant  home,  in  honor  ;  doubt  it  not — if  in  the  battle  thou 
keep  thy  shield !  Thou,  in  the  eternities  and  deepest  death- 
kingdoms,  art  not  an  alien  ;  thou  every  where  art  a  denizen ! 
Complain  not ;  the  very  Spartans  did  not  complain. 

TuoMAs  Carlyle. 


LESSON  in. — the  duty  op  labor. 

1.  Labor  is  man's  great  function.  The  earth  and  the  atmos- 
phere are  his  laboratory.  With  spade  and  plow,  with  mining 
shafts,  and  furnaces,  and  forges,  with  fire  and  steam,  amid  the 


TENTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  493 

noise  and  whirl  of  swift  and  bright  machinery,  and  abroad 
in  the  silent  fields,  beneath  the  roofing  sky,  man  was  made 
to  be  ever  working,  ever  experimenting.  And  while  he  and 
all  his  dwellings  of  care  and  toil  are  borne  onward  with  the 
circling  skies,  and  the  shows  of  heaven  are  around  him,  and 
their  infinite  depths  image  and  invite  his  thought,  still  in  all 
the  worlds  of  philosophy,  in  the  universe  of  intellect,  man 
must  be  a  worker.  He  is  nothing,  he  can  be  nothing,  he  can 
achieve  nothing,  fulfill  nothing,  without  working. 

2.  Not  only  can  he  gain  no  lofty  improvement  without  this, 
but  without  it  he  can  gain  no  tolerable  happiness.  So  that 
he  who  gives  himself  up  to  utter  indolence  finds  it  too  hard 
for  him,  and  is  obliged  in  self-defense,  unless  he  be  an  idiot, 
to  do  something.  The  miserable  victims  of  idleness  and  en- 
nui, driven  at  last  from  their  chosen  resort,  are  compelled  to 
work,  to  do  something ;  yes,  to  employ  their  wretched  and 
worthless  lives  in — "killing  time."  They  must  hunt  down 
the  hours  as  their  prey.  Yes,  time,  that  mere  abstraction, 
that  sinks  light  as  the  air  upon  the  eyelids  of  the  busy  and 
the  weary,  to  the  idle  is  an  enemy,  clothed  with  gigantic 
armor ;  and  they  must  kill  it,  or  themselves  die.  They  can 
not  live  in  mere  idleness ;  and  all  the  difierence  between  them 
and  others  is,  that  they  employ  their  activity  to  no  useful 
end.  They  find,  indeed,  that  the  hardest  work  in  the  world 
is  to  do  nothing. — Dbwey. 


LESSON   IV.— WORK  AWAY. 

1.  Work  away! 

For  the  master's  eye  is  on  us, 
Never  off  us,  still  upon  us, 

Night  and  day. 

Work  away ! 
Keep  the  busy  fingers  plying, 
Keep  the  ceaseless  shuttles  flying ; 
See  that  never  thread  lie  wrong ; 
Let  not  clash  or  clatter  round  us, 
Sound  of  whirring  wheels  confound  us; 
Steady  hand  !  let  woof  be  strong 
And  firm,  that  has  to  last  so  long  ! 

Work  away ! 

2.  Keep  upon  the  anvil  ringing 
Stroke  of  hammer ;  on  the  gloom 
Set  'twixt  cradle  and  'twixt  tomb 
Shower  of  fiery  sparkles  flinging ; 
Keep  the  mighty  furnace  glowing ; 
Keep  the  red  ore  hissing,  flowing 


494  willson's  fifth  reader. 

Swift  within  the  ready  mould ; 
See  that  each  one  than  the  old 
Still  be  fitter,  still  be  fairer 
For  the  servant's  use,  and  rarer 
For  the  master  to  behold : 
Work  away ! 

3.  Work  away ! 

For  the  leader's  eye  is  on  us, 
Never  off  us,  still  upon  us, 

Night  and  day. 
Wide  the  trackless  prairies  round  us, 
Dark  and  unsunned  woods  surround  us, 
Deep  and  savage  mountains  bound  us ; 

Far  away 
Smile  the  soft  savannas  green, 
Rivers  sweep  and  roll  between : 

Work  away ! 

4.  Bring  your  axes,  woodmen  true  ; 
Smite  the  forest  till  the  blue 

Of  heaven's  sunny  eye  looks  through 
Every  wild  and  tangled  glade ; 
Jungled  swamp  and  thicket  shade 

Give  to-day ! 
O'er  the  torrents  fling  your  bridges, 
Pioneers !     Upon  the  ridges 
Widen,  smooth  the  rocky  stair — 
They  that  follow,  far  behind 
Coming  after  us,  will  find 
Surer,  easier  footing  there  ;     . 
Heart  to  heart,  and  hand  to  hand, 
From  the  dawn  to  dusk  o'  day, 

Work  away ! 
Scouts  upon  the  mountain's  peak — 
Ye  that  see  the  Promised  Land, 
Hearten  us !  for  ye  can  speak 
Of  the  country  ye  have  scanned, 

Far  away  I 
6.  Work  away ! 

For  the  Father's  eye  is  on  us. 
Never  off  us,  still  upon  us, 

Night  and  day. 

Work  and  pray  ! 
Pray  !  and  work  will  be  completer ; 
Work  !  and  prayer  will  be  the  sweeter ; 
Love  !  and  prayer  and  work  the  fleeter 

Will  ascend  upon  their  way. 
Fear  not  lest  the  busy  finger 
Weave  a  net  the  soul  to  stay ; 
Give  her  wings — she  will  not  linger; 
Soaring  to  the  source  of  day ; 
Cleaving  clouds  that  still  divide  us 
From  the  azure  depths  of  rest, 
She  will  come  again  I  beside  us, 


TENTH   MISCELLANEOUS   DIVISION.  495 

"With  the  sunshine  on  her  breast, 
Sit,  and  sing  to  us,  while  quickest 
On  their  task  the  fingers  move. 
While  the  outward  din  wars  thickest, 
Songs  that  she  hath  learned  above. 
Live  in  Future  as  in  Present ; 
Work  for  both  while  yet  the  day- 
Is  our  own  !  for  lord  and  peasant, 
Long  and  bright  as  summer's  day, 
Cometh,  yet  more  sure,  more  pleasant, 
Cometh  soon  our  holiday ; 
Work  away ! 


LESSON    V. NEVER   DESPAIR 


The  opal-hued  and  ma|^^^umed  morn 

From  gloom  is 
From  out  the  sullen  depth  of  ebon  Night 

The  stars  shed  light ; 
Grems  in  the  rayless  caverns  of  the  earth 

Have  their  slow  birth ; 
From  wondrous  alchemy  of  winter  hours 

Come  summer  flowers ; 
The  bitter  waters  of  the  restless  main 

Give  gentle  rain ; 
The  fading  bloom  and  dry  seed  bring  once  more 

The  year's  fresh  store ; 
Just  sequences  of  clashing  tones  afford 

The  full  accord ; 
Through  weary  ages,  full  of  strife  and  ruth, 

Thought  reaches  Truth ; 
Through  efforts,  long  in  vain,  prophetic  need 

Begets  the  deed : 
Nerve  then  thy  soul  \Yith  direst  need  to  cope ; 

Life's  brightest  hope 
Lies  latent  in  Fate's  deadliest  lair — 

Never  despair ! — Anonymous. 


LESSON"   VI. GOD  IS  EVERY  WHERE. 

1.  Oh  I  show  me  where  is  He, 

The  high  and  holy  One, 

To  whom  thou  bend'st  the  knee. 

And  pray'st',  "Thy  will  be  doneM" 

I  hear^  thy  song  of  praise', 

And  lo!  Txoforin'  is  near: 

Thine  eyes  I  see  thee  raise'. 

But  where  doth  God  appear^  ? 
Oh !  teach  me  who  is^  God,  and  where  his  glories  shine\ 
That  I  may  kneel  and  pray,  and  call  thy  Father  mine. 


496  WILLSON'S   FIFTH    EEADEE. 

2.  "  Gaze  on  that  arch  above' ; 
The  glittering  vault  admire'. 
Who  taught  those  orbs  to  move'  ? 
Who  lit  their  ceaseless  fire'  ? 
Who  guides  the  moon  to  run 

In  silence  through  the  skies'  ? 

Who  bids  that  dawning  sun 

In  strength  and  beauty  rise'  ? 
There  view  immensity' !  behold  !  my  God  is  there : 
The  sun',  the  moon',  the  stars',  his  majesty  declare'. 

3.  "  See  where  the  mountains'  rise ; 
Where  thundering  torrents'  foam ; 
Where,  veil'd  in  towering  skies', 
The  eagle^  makes  his  home ; 
Where  savage  nature  dwells, 

My  God  is  pr^ent  too' ; 

Through  al^Hh^dest  dells. 

His  footstejI^Hfcrsue : 
He  rear'd  those  giant  cli^^^upplies  that  dashing  stream'. 
Provides  the  daily  food  which  stills  the  wild  bird's  scream. 

4.  "Look  on  that  world  of  waves, 
Where  finny  nations  glide ; 
Within  whose  deep,  dark  caves 
The  ocean-monsttrs  hide : 
His  power  is  sovereign  there. 
To  raise',  to  quell'  the  storm ; 
The  depths  his  bounty  share. 
Where  sport  the  scaly  swarm  : 

Tempest  and  calms  obey  the  same  almighty  voice 

Which  rules  the  earth  and  skies,  and  bids  far  worlds  rejoice. 

5.  "No  human  thoughts  can  soar 
Beyond  his  boundless  might; 
He  swells  the  thunder's  roar, 
He  spreads  the  wings  of  night. 
Oh  !  praise  his  works  divine' ! 
Bow  down  thy  soul  m  prayer' ; 
Nor  ask  for  other  sign 

That  God  is  every  where  : 
The  viewless  Spirit' !  He — immortiil',  holy',  blest' : 
Oh  !  worship  him  in  faith',  and  find  eternal  rest' !" — Anonymous. 


PATERNAL  AFFECTION. 

Some  feelings  are  to  mortals  given, 

With  less  of  earth  in  them  than  heaven ; 

And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 

From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 

A  tear  so  lini])id  and  so  meek 

It  would  not  stain  nn  angel's  check, 

'Tis  that  which  pious  fathers  shed 

Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head. — Scott. 


Pabt  XI. 


ANCIENT  HISTOBY. 


497 


PAET  XL 

HISTOEICAL.    ANCIENT  HISTOEY  PEIOE  TO 
THE  CHRISTIAK  EEA. 


■  LESSON   I. — EAELY   GRECIAN   HISTORY. 

1.  Nearly  all  that  is  of  interest  and  importance  to  us  in 
the  -history  of  the  world  prior  to  the  Christian  era  is  em- 
braced in  the  history  of  the  Jews,  and  in  Grecian  and  Roman 
history.  To  the  Bible,  chiefly,  we  are  to  look  for  the  details 
of  the  former.  Grecian  history  follows  next  in  the  order  of 
time,  beginning  far  back  in  the  gloom  of  antiquity,  with  the 
supposed  founding  of  Argos  in  the  year  1856  before  the 
Christian  era,  and  extending  down  to  the  conquest  of  Greece 
by  the  Romans  in  the  year  146  B.C.  Aft^r  this  latter  period, 
and  during  several  centuries,  the  history  of  the  then  known 
world  is  absorbed  in  the  overshadowing  of,  first,  the  Roman 
republic,  and,  afterward,  of  the  Roman  empire. 

2.  All  that  is  known  of  Grecian  history  during  a  period  of 
more  than  a  thousand  years  after  the  date  arbitrarily  assigned 


498  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  XI. 

for  the  founding  of  Argos,  rests  on  no  better  basis  than  the 
songs  and  traditionary  legends  of  bards  and  story-tellers. 
During  this  long  period  it  is  impossible  to  distinguish  names 
and  events,  real  and  historical,  from  fictitious  creations  which 
so  confound  the  human  and  the  divine  as  to  mock  all  attempts 
at  elucidation.  We  must  therefore  set  aside  as  merely  pleas- 
ing fictions,  to  be  classed  with  the  legends  of  the  gods,  the 
stories  of  Ce'crops,  and  Cran'aus,  and  Dan'aus,  the  account 
of  the  Argonautic  expedition,  and  the  labors  of  Hercules ; 
and  even  the  beautiful  story  of  Helen  and  the  Trojan  war, 
"  the  most  splendid  gem  in  the  Grecian  legends,"  is  declared 
by  the  historian  Grote  to  be  "  essentially  a  legend,  and  noth- 
ing more." 

3.  But  out  of  this  thousand  years  of  darkness  a  something 
tangible  and  reliable  has,  nevertheless,  been  obtained,  which 
may  bQ  dignified  with  the  name  of  history — a  history  of  what 
the  people  thought^  though  not  of  what  they  did.  From  fa- 
ble, and  legend,  and  tradition,  we  learn  what  was  the  relig- 
ious belief  of  the  early  Greeks,  and  this  has  been  embodied 
in  what  is  called  Grecian  mythology. 

4.  The  early  Greeks,  like  all  rude,  uncultivated  tribes,  prob- 
ably associated  their  earliest  religious  emotions  with  the  char- 
acter of  surrounding  objects,  and  ascribed  its  appropriate 
deity  to  every  manifestation  of  power  in  the  itfkle  universe. 
Thus  they  had  nymphs  of  the  forests,  rivers^Radows,  and 
fountains,  and  gods  and  goddesses  almost  innumerable,  some 
terrestrial,  others  celestial,  according  to  the  places  over  which 
they  were  supposed  to  preside,  and  rising  in  importance  in 
proportion  to  the  power  they  manifested.  The  foundation 
of  this  religion,  like  all  others,  was  a  belief  in  higher  exist- 
ences which  have  an  influence  over  the  destinies  of  mortals. 
The  process  by  which  the  beings  of  Grecian  mythology  nat- 
urally arose  out  of  the  teeming  fancies  of  the  ardent  Greek 
mind,  is  beautifully  described  by  Wordsworth  in  the  follow- 
ing lines. 


LESSON   II. — GRECIAN  MYTHOLOGY. 

In  that  fair  clime,  the  lonely  hcrclsmaTi,  stretched 

On  the  soft  grass  through  lialf  a  summer's  day, 

With  music  lulled  his  indolent  repose ; 

And  in  some  fit  of  weariness,  if  he, 

When  his  own  hreath  was  silent,  chanced  to  hear 

A  distant  strain,  far  sweeter  than  the  soimds 


Part  XI.  AisrciEJST  HiSTOBY.  499 

Which  his  poor  skill  could  make,  his  fancy  fetch'd 
Even  from  the  blazing  chariot  of  the  sun 
A  beardless  youth,*  who  touched  a  golden  lute, 
And  filled  the  illumined  groves  with  ravishment. 

2.  The  nightly  hunter,  lifting  a  bright  eye 

Up  toward  the  crescent  moon,  with  grateful  heart 

Called  on  the  lovely  wanderer  who  bestow'd 

That  timely  light  to  share  his  joyous  sport. 

And  hence  a  beaming  goddess,  f  with  her  nymphs, 

Across  the  lawn,  and  through  the  darksome  grove 

(Not  unaccompanied  with  tuneful  notes 

By  echo  multiplied  from  rock  or  cave), 

Swept  in  the  storm  of  chase,  as  moon  and  stars 

Glance  rapidly  along  the  clouded  heaven 

When  winds  are  blowing  strong.     The  traveler  slaked 

His  thirst  from  rill  or  gushing  fount,  and  thank'd 

The  Naiad.  J     Sunbeams,  upon  distant  hills 

Gliding  apace,  with  shadows  in  their  train. 

Might,  with  small  help  from  fancy,  be  transformed 

Into  fleet  Oreads§  sporting  visibly. 

3.  The  Zephyrs  fanning,  as  they  passed,  their  wings, 
Lacked  not  for  love  fair  objects,  whom  they  wooed 
With  gentle  whisper.  ||     Withered  boughs  grotesque, 
Stripped  of  their  leaves  and  twigs  by  hoary  age, 
From  depth  of  shaggy  covert  peeping  forth 

In  the  low  vale,  or  on  steep  mountain  side ; 

And  sometimes  intermixed  with  stirring  horns 

Of  the  live  deer,  or  goat's  depending  beard — 

These  were  the  lurking  satyrs,^  a  "wild  brood 

Of  gamesome  deities ;  or  Pan  himself, 

The  simple  shepherd's  awe-inspiring  God.** — Wordsworth. 


LESSON    III. THE   PERSIAN  WARS. 

1.  Passing  over  the  "fabulous  period"  of  Grecian  history, 
which  may  be  supposed  to  end  about  the  time  of  the  close 
of  the  supposed  Trojan  war,  and  the  "uncertain  period," 

*  This  is  Apollo,  or  the  sun,  the  god  of  prophecy,  archery,  and  music,  represented  as  a 
youth  in  the  perfection  of  manly  strength  and  beauty.  He  bears  a  lyre  in  his  hand,  some- 
times a  bow,  and  a  golden  lute,  with  a  golden  quiver  of  arrows  at  his  back. 

t  Diana^  the  exact  counte:^art  of  her  brother  Apollo,  was  queen  of  the  woods,  and  the 
goddess  of  hunting.     Diana  is  one  of  the  names  under  which  the  moon  was  worshiped, 

t  The  Maiads  are  represented  as  young  and  beautiful  nymphs,  who  presided  over  riv- 
ers, brooks,  springs,  and  fountains, 

§  The  Oreads^  nymphs  of  the  mountains,  generally  attended  upon  Diana,  and  accompa- 
nied her  in  hunting. 

11  The  ZephyrH  were  the  genial  west  winds.  They  were  brothers  of  the  stars,  and  seldom 
visited  the  earth  except  during  the  shades  of  everting. 

IT  The  Satyrs  were  represented  like  men,  but  with  feet  and  legs  of  goats,  short  horns  on 
the  head,  and  the  whole  body  covered  with  thick  hair. 

**  The  horned  and  goat-footed  Pan  was  the  god  of  shepherds,  and  lord  of  the  woods 
and  mountains.  What  are  called  panic  terrors  were  ascribed  to  Pan ;  as  loud  noises, 
whose  causes  could  not  easily  be  traced,  were  oftenest  heard  in  mountainous  regions,  which 
were  his  favorite  haunts. 


500  willson's  fifth  reader.  PabtXI. 

which  embraces  an  account  of  the  institutions  of  Lycurgus, 
the  Messenian  wars,  and  tlie  legislation  of  Solon,  we  come 
down  to  what  is  called  the  "  authentic  i:)criod,"  which  begins 
with  the  causes  that  led  to  the  first  Persian  war. 

2.  Dari'us,  king  of  Persia,  exasperated  against  Athens  on 
account  of  the  assistance  which  she  had  given  to  the  Greek 
colonies  of  Asia  Minor  in  their  revolt  against  the  Persian 
power,  resolved  upon  the  conquest  of  all  Greece ;  but  in  the 
third  year  of  the  war,  490  B.C.,  his  array,  numbering  a  hund- 
red thousand  men,  was  defeated  with  great  slaughter  by  a 
force  of  little  more  than  ten  thousand  Greeks  on  the  plains 
of  Marathon. 

3.  Ten  years  later,  Xerxes,  the  son  and  successor  of  Dari'us, 
opened  the  second  Persian  war  by  invading  Greece  in  person, 
at  the  head  of  the  greatest  army  the  world  has  ever  seen,  and 
whose  numbers  have  been  estimated  at  more  than  two  mill- 
ions of  fighting  men.  This  immense  host,  proceeding  by  the 
way  of  Thessaly,  had  arrived  without  opposition  at  the  nar- 
row defile  of  Thermopylae,  between  the  mountains  and  the 
sea,  where  the  Spartan  Leonidas  was  posted  with  three  hund- 
red of  his  countrymen  and  some  Thespian  allies,  in  all  less 
than  a  thousand  men. 

4.  The  Spartans  were  forbidden  by  their  laws  ever  to  flee 
from  an  enemy ;  they  had  taken  an  oath  never  to  desert  their 
standards ;  and  Leonidas  and  his  countrymen,  and  their  few 
allies,  prepared  to  sell  their  lives  as  dearly  as  possible.  Brave- 
ly meeting  the  attack  of  the  Persian  host,  and  retreating  into 
the  narrowest  of  the  pass  as  their  numbers  were  thinned  by 
the  storm  of  arrows,  and  by  the  living  mass  that  was  hurled 
upon  them,  they  fought  with  the  valor  of  desperation  until 
every  one  of  their  number  had  fallen.*  A  monument  was 
afterward  erected  on  the  spot,  bearing  the  following  inscrip- 
tion :  "  Go,  stranger,  and  tell  at  Lacedaemon  that  we  died 
here  in  obedience  to  her  laws." 

•  The  story  that  Leonidas  made  a  night  attack,  and  ponetoited  nearly  to  the  royal  tent, 
aa  described  by  Croly  in  his  well-known  poem  beginning, 

''  It  was  the  wild  midnight ;  a  stonn  vrna  on  the  sky," 

Is  a  mere  fiction,  opposed  to  well-known  history.  For  this  reason  wc  have  not  introduced 
it  in  our  selections.  The  attack  was  commenced  in  the  forenoon,  and  by  the  I^ersiane. 
Historical  fictions  may  be  introduced  without  any  iuiiJiopricty  where  they  fill  up  with 
probable  events  the  gaps  in  history,  but. not  where  they  are  in  opposiHon  to  history.  Of 
the  former  character  are  modt  of  the  historical  sccned  in  Sliakspcarc 


Part  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  501 


LESSON   IV. — ADDRESS   OF  LEONIDAS   TO   THE   SPAETANS. 

1.  "Why  this  astonishment  on  every  face, 

Ye  men  of  Sparta  ?     Does  the  name  of  death 
Create  this  fear  and  wonder?     Oh  my  friends  ! 
Why  do  we  labor  through  the^rduous  paths 
Which  lead  to  virtue  ?     Fruitless  were  the  toil, 
Above  the  reach  of  human  feet  were  placed 
The  distant  summit,  if  the  fear  of  death 
Could  intercept  our  passage.     But  in  vain 
His'-blackest  frowns  and  terrors  he  assumes 
To  shake  the  firmness  of  the  mind  which  knows 
That,  wanting  virtue,  life  is  pain  and  woe ; 
That,  wanting  liberty,  even  virtue  mourns, 
And  looks  around  for  happiness  in  vain. 

2.  "Then  speak,  oh  Sparta !  and  demand  my  life ; 
My  heart,  exulting,  answers  to  thy  call. 

And  smiles  on  glorious  fate.     To  live  with  fame 

Is  allowed  to  the  many ;  but  to  die 

With  equal  lustre  is  a  blessing  Heaven 

Selects  from  all  the  choicest  boons  of  fate, 

And  with  a  sparing  hand  on  few  bestows." 

Salvation  thus  to  Sparta  he  proclaimed. 

Joy,  rapt  a  while  in  admiration,  paused. 

Suspending  praise  ;  nor  praise  at  last  resounds 

In  high  acclaim  to  rend  the  arch  of  heaven ; 

A  reverential  murmur  breathes  applause. — Rich.  Glover. 


LESSON"   V. — THE   SPAETANS   NOBLT   KEPT  THEIR   OATH. 

1.  'TwAs  an  hour  of  fearful  issues. 

When  the  bold  three  hundred  stood, 
For  their  love  of  holy  freedom, 

By  that  old  Thessalian  flood — 
When,  lifting  high  each  sword  of  flame, 
They  called  on  every  sacred  name, 
And  swore,  beside  those  dashing  waves, 
They  never,  never  would  be  slaves ! 

2.  And  ch !  that  oath  was  nobly  kept. 

From  morn  to  setting  sun 
J^d.  desperation  urge  the  fight 
^Which  valor  had  begun ; 
Till,  torrent-like,  the  stream  of  blood 
Ran  down  and  mingled  with  the  flood,  ■ 

And  all,  from  mountain  cliff  to  wave, 
Was  Freedom's,  Valor's,  Glory's  grave. 

3.  Oh  yes !  that  oath  was  nobly  kept, 

Which  nobly  had  been  sworn, 
And  proudly  did  each  gallant  heart 
The  focman's  fetters  spurn ; 


602  willson's  fifth  beadek.  Part  XI. 

And  firmly  was  the  fight  maintained, 

And  amply  was  the  triumph  gained ; 

They  fought,  fair  Liberty,  for  thee ; 

They  fell — to  die  is  to  be  fbee  ! — Geo.  W.  Doane. 


LESSON   VI. — THE   GLORY   OF  THEIR  FALL. 
They  fell  devoted,  but  undying ; 
The  very  gale  their  names  seem'd  sighing  ; 
The  waters  murmur'd  of  their  name ; 
The  woods  were  peopled  with  their  fame ; 
The  silent  pillar,  lone  and  gray, 
Claim'd  kindred  with  their  sacred  clay : 
Their  spirits  wrapp'd  the  dusky  mountain. 
Their  memory  sparkled  o'er  the  fountain : 
The  meanest  rill,  the  migbtiest  river, 
RoU'd  mingling  with  their  fame  forever. 
Despite  of  every  yoke  she  bears, 
The  land  is  glory's  still  and  theirs. 
'Tis  still  a-watchword  to  the  earth : 
When  man  would  do  a  deed  of  worth. 
He  points  to  Greece,  and  turns  to  tread. 
So  sanctioned,  on  the  tyrant's  head ; 
He  looks  to  her,  and  rushes  on 
Where  life  is  lost,  or  freedom  won. — Btkon. 


LESSON   VII. — BATTLE   OF   SAL'aMIS,  AND   FLIGHT   OF 
XERXES,  480    B.C. 

After  the  fall  of  Leonidas,  Xerxes  ravaged  Attica  and 
burned  Athens.  He  then  made  preparations  to  annihilate 
the  power  of  the  Grecians  in  a  naval  engagement,  and  sent 
his  whole  fleet  to  block  up  that  of  the  Greeks  in  the  narrow 
strait  of  Sal'amis.  Proceeding  thither  with  his  army  also, 
he  drew  up  his  countless  thousands  on  the  shore,  and  then 
caused  a  throne  to  be  erected  on  one  of  the  neighboring 
heights,  where  he  might  witness  the  naval  battle,  in  which 
he  was  confident  of  victory ;  but  he  had  the  misfortune  and 
the  mortification  to  see  his  magnificent  navy  almost  utterly 
annihilated.  Terrified  at  the  result,  he  hastil^ed  across  the 
Hellespont,  and  retired  into  his  own  dominSis,  leaving  his 
general  Mardonius,  at  the  head  of  three  hundred  thousand 
men,  to  complete,  if  possible,  the  conquest  of  Greece. 

I.  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  BATTLE  OF  SALAMIS. 

From  ^SCHTLUS. 
1.  The  Persian  chief. 

Little  dreaming  of  the  wiles  of  Greece 
And  gods  averse,  to  all  the  naval  leaders 


Part  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  603 

Gave  his  high  charge  :   '«  Soon  as  yon  sun  shall  cease 

To  dart  his  radiant  beams,  and  dark'ning  night 

Ascends  the  temple  of  the  sky,  arrange 

In  three  divisions  your  well-ordered  ships, 

And  guard  each  pass,  each  outlet  of  the  seas  : 

Others  enring  around  this  rocky  isle 

Of  Salamis.     Should  Greece  escape  her  fate, 

And  work  her  way  by  secret  flight,  your  heads 

Shall  answer  the  neglect."     This  harsh  command 

He  gave,  exulting  in  his  mind,  nor  knew 

What  Fate  designed.     With  martial  discipline 

And  prompt  obedience,  snatching  a  repast, 

Each  mariner  fixed  well  his  ready  oar.  ** 

2.  Sooi}  as  the  golden  sun  was  set,  and  night 
Advanced,  each,  trained  to  ply  the  dashing  oar, 
Assumed  his  seat ;  in  arms  each  warrior  stood, 
Troop  cheering  troop  through  all  the  ships  of  war. 
Each  to  the  appointed  station  sfeers  his  course, 
And  through  the  night  his  naval  force  each  chief 
Fix'd  to  secure  the  passes.     Night  advanced, 
But  not  by  secret  flight  did  Greece  attempt 

To  escape.     The  morn,  all  beauteous  to  behold, 

Drawn  by  white  steeds,  bounds  o'er  the  enlighten'd  earth : 

3.  At  once  from  every  Greek,  with  glad  acclaim, 
Burst  forth  the  song  of  war,  whose  lofty  notes 
The  echo  of  the  island  rocks  returned. 
Spreading  dismay  through  Persia's  host,  thus  fallen 
From  their  high  hopes;  no  flight  this  solemn  strain 
Portended,  but  deliberate  valor  bent 

On  daring  battle;  while  the  trumpet's  sound 
Kindled  the  flames  of  war.     But  when  their  oars 
(The  paean  ended)  with  impetuous  force 
Dash'd  the  surrounding  surges,  instant  all 
Rush'd  on  in  view ;  in  orderly  an-ay 
The  squadron  of  the  right  first  led,  behind 
Rode  their  whole  fleet ;  and  now  distinct  was  heard 
From  every  part  this  voice  of  exhortation : 

4.  "Advance,  ye  sons  of  Greece,  from  thraldom  save 
Your  country — save  your  wives,  your  children  save, 
The  temples  of  your  gods,  the  sacred  tomb 
Where  rest  your  honor'd  ancestors ;  this  day 

The  common  cause  of  all  demands  your  valor." 
Meantime  from  Persia's  hosts  the  deep'ning  shout 
Answer'd  their  shout ;  no  time  for  cold  delay ; 
But  ship  'gainst  ship  its  brazen  beak  impell'd. 
6.  First  to  the  charge  a  Grecian  galley  rush'd ; 
111  the  Phoenician  bore  the  rough  attack, 
Its  sculptured  prow  all  shatter'd.     Each  advanced, 
Daring  an  opposite.     The  deep  array 
Of  Persia  at  the  first  sustain'd  the  encounter ; 
But  their  throng'd  numbers,  in  the  narrow  seas 
Confined,  want  room  for  action ;   and,  deprived 
Of  mutual  aid,  beaks  clash  with  beaks,  and  each 


604  willson's  fifth  keadek.  PabtXI. 

Breaks  all  the  other's  oars ;  with  skill  disposed, 
The  Grecian  navy  circled  them  around 
In  fierce  assault ;  and,  rushing  from  its  height, 
The  inverted  vessel  sinks. 

6.  The  sea  no  more 

Wears  its  accustom'd  aspect,  with  foul  wrecks 
And  blood  disfigured  ;  floating  carcasses 
Roll  on  the  rocky  shores ;  the  poor  remains 
Of  the  barbaric  armament  to  flight 
Ply  every  oar  inglorious :  onward  rush 
The  Greeks  amid  the  ruins  of  the  fleet, 
As  through  a  shoal  of  fish  caught  in  the  net, 
Spreading  destruction ;  the  wide  ocean  o'er 
Waitings  are  heard,  and  loud  laments,  till  night. 
With  darkness  on  her  brow,  brought  grateful  truce. 
Should  I  recount  each  circumstance  of  wo. 
Ten  times  on  my  unfinish'd  tale  the  sun 
Would  set ;  for  be  assured  that  not  one  day 
Could  close  the  ruin  of  so  vast  a  host. 

II.  THE  FLIGHT  OF  XERXES. 

1.  I  saw  him  on  the  battle-eve, 

When,  like  a  king,  he  bore  him — 
Proud  hosts  in  glittering  helm  and  greave, 

And  prouder  chiefs  before  him : 
The  warrior,  and  the  warrior's  deeds — 
The  morrow,  and  the  mon-ow's  meeds — 

No  daunting  thoughts  came  o'er  him ; 
He  looked  around  him,  and  his  eye 
Defiance  flashed  to  earth  and  sky. 

2.  He  looked  on  ocean — its  broad  breast 

Was  covered  with  his  fleet ; 
On  earth — and  saw,  from  east  to  west, 

His  bannered  millions  meet ; 
While  rock,  and  glen,  and  rave,  and  coast, 
Shook  with  the  war-cry  of  tliat  host, 

The  thunder  of  their  feet ! 
lie  heard  the  imperial  echoes  ring — 
He  heard,  and  felt  himself  a  king. 

8.  I  saw  him  next  alone :  nor  camp 

Nor  chief  his  steps  attended ; 
Nor  banner  blazed,  nor  courser's  tramp 

With  war-cries  proudly  blended. 
He  stood  alone,  whom  fortune  high 
So  lately  seemed  to  deify ; 

He,  who  with  heaven  contended, 
Fled  like  a  fugitive  and  slave  ! 
Behind — the  foe ;  before — the  wave. 

4.  He  stood — fleet,  army,  treasure,  gone — 
Ahme,  and  in  despair ! 
But  wave  and  wind  swept  ruthless  on. 
For  they  wore  monarchs  there ; 


Pabt  XI.  ANCIENT   HISTORY.  605 

And  Xerxes,  in  a  single  bark, 

Where  late  his  thousand  ships  were  dark. 

Must  all  their  fury  dare. 
What  a  revenge — a  trophy,  this — 
For  thee,  immortal  Sal'amis ! — Mrs.  Jewsbukt. 


LESSON   Vni. BATTLE    OF   PLATJe'a,  479  B.C.  : END    OF 

THE   PERSIAN   WARS. 

Bulwer's  Athens. 

• 

1.  After  the  defeat  of  the  Persians  in  the  naval  battle  of. 
Sal'amis,  their  army,  which  remained  in  Greece  under  the  com- 
mand of  Mardonius,  experienced  a  final  overthrow  in  the  bat- 
tle of  Platse'a.  In  this  famous  battle  the  Spartan  general  Pau- 
sanias  had  the  chief  command  of  the  Grecian  forces.  We 
give  the  leading  incidents  of  the  battle  as  graphically  de- 
scribed by  Bulwer : 

2.  "  As  the  troops  of  Mardonius  advanced,  the  rest  of  the 
Persian  armament,  deeming  the  task  was  not  now  to  fight, 
but  to  pursue,  raised  their  standards  and  poured  forward  tu- 
multuously,  without  discipline  or  order.  Pausanias,  pressed 
by  the  Persian  line,  lost  no  time  in  sending  to  the  Athen- 
ians for  succor.  But  when  the  latter  were  on  their  march 
with  the  required  aid,  they  were  suddenly  intercepted  by  the 
Greeks  in  the  Persian  service,  and  cut  ofl'  from  the  rescue  of 
the  Spartans. 

3.  "  The  Spartans  beheld  themselves  thus  unsupported  with 
considerable  alarm.  Committing  himself  to  the  gods,  Pau- 
sanias ordained  a  solemn  sacrifice,  his  whole  army  awaiting 
the  result,  while  the  shafts  of  the  Persian  bowmen  poured  on 
them  near  and  fast.  But  the  entrails  presented  discouraging 
omens,  and  the  sacrifice  was  again  renewed.  Meanwhile  the 
Spartans  evinced  their  characteristic  fortitude  and  discipline 
— not  one  man  stirring  from  his  ranks  until  the  auguries 
should  assume  a  more  favoring  aspect ;  all  harassed,  and  some 
wounded  by  the  Persian  arrows,  they  yet,  seeking  protection 
only  beneath  their  broad  bucklers,  waited  with  a  stern  pa- 
tience the  time  of  their  leader  and  of  Heaven.  Then  fell  Cal- 
lic'rates,  the  stateliest  and  strongest  soldier  in  the  whole  army, 
lamenting,  not  death,  but  that  his  sword  was  as  yet  undrawn 
against  the  invader. 

4.  "And  still  sacrifice  after  sacrifice  seemed  to  forbid  the 
battle,  when  Pausanias,  lifting  his  eyes,  that  streamed  with 
tears,  to  the  temple  of  Juno  that  stood  hard  by,  supplicated 


506  willson's  fifth  eeader.  Pabt  XI. 

the  goddess  that  if  the  fates  forbade  the  Greeks  to  conquer, 
they  might  at  least  fall  like  warriors.  And  while  uttering 
this  prayer  the  tokens  waited  for  became  suddenly  visible  in 
the  victims,  and  the  augurs  announced  the  promise  of  coming 
victory.  Therewith  the  order  of  battle  ran  instantly  througli 
the  army,  and,  to  use  the  poetical  comparison  of  Plutarch,  the 
SpartUn  phalanx  suddenly  stood  forth  in  its  strength,  like  some 
fierce  animal — erecting  its  bristles,  and  preparing  its  venge- 
ance for  the  foe.  The  ground,  broken  in  many  steep  and  pre- 
cipitous ridges,  and  intersected  by  the  Aso'pus,  whose  slug- 
gish stream  winds  over  a  broad  and  rushy  bed,  was  unfavor- 
able to  the  movements  of  cavalry,  and  the  Persian  foot  ad- 
vanced therefore  on  the  Greeks. 

5.  "  Drawn  up  in  their  massive  phalanx,  the  Lacedaemonians 
presented  an  almost  impenetrable  body — sweeping  slowly  on, 
compact  and  serried — while  the  hot  and  undisciplined  valor 
of  the  Persians,  more  fortunate  in  the  skirmish  than  the  bat- 
tle, broke  itself  in  a  thousand  waves  upon  that  moving  rock. 
Pouring  on  in  small  numbers  at  a  time,  they  fell  fast  round 
the  progress  of  the  Greeks — their  armor  slight  against  the 
strong  pikes  of  Sparta — their  courage  without  skill — their 
numbers  without  discipline  ;  still  they  fought  gallantly,  even 
when  on  the  ground  seizing  the  pikes  with  their  naked  hands, 
and  with  the  wonderful  agility  which  still  characterizes  the 
Oriental  swordsmen,  springing  to  their  feet  and  regaining 
their  arms  when  seemingly  overcome,  wresting  away  their 
enemies'  shields,  and  grappling  with  them  desperately  hand 
to  hand. 

6.  "  Foremost  of  a  band  of  a  thousand  chosen  Persians,  con- 
spicuous by  his  white  charger,  and  still  more  by  his  daring 
valor,  rode  Mardonius,  directing  the  attack — fiercer  wherever 
his  armor  blazed.  Inspired  by  his  presence,  the  Persians 
fought  worthily  of  their  warlike  fame,  and,  even  in  falling, 
thinned  the  Spartan  ranks.  At  length  the  rash  but  gallant 
leader  of  the  Asiatic  armies  received  a  mortal  wound — his 
skull  was  crushed  in  by  a  stone  from  the  hand  of  a  Spartan. 
His  chosen  band,  the  boast  of  the  army,  fell  fighting  around 
him,  but  liis  deatji  was  the  general  signal  of  defeat  and  flight. 
Encumbered  by  their  long  robes,  and  pressed  by  the  relent- 
less contjuerors,  the  Persians  fled  in  disorder  toward  their 
camp,  which  was  secured  by  wooden  intrenchments,  by  gates, 
and  towers,  and  walls.  Here,  fortifying  themselves  as  they 
best  might,  they  contended  witli  advantage  against  the  Lace- 
daemonians, who  were  ill  skilled  in  assault  and  sie^o. 


Part  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  507 

V.  "  Meanwhile  the  Athenians  obtained  the  victory  on  the 
plains  over  the  Greeks  of  Mardonius,  and  now  joined  the 
Spartans  at  the  camp.  The  Athenians  are  said  to  have  been 
better  skilled  in  the  art  of  siege  than  the  Spartans ;  yet  at 
that  time  their  experience  could  scarcely  have  been  greater. 
The  Athenians  were  at  all  times,  however,  of  a  more  impet- 
uous temper ;  and  the  men  who  had  '  run  to  the  charge'  at 
Marathon  were  not  to  be  baffled  by  the  desperate  remnant 
of  their  ancient  foe.  They  scaled  the  walls — they  eifected  a 
breach  through  which  the  Tegeans  were  the  first  to  rush — 
the  Greeks  poured  fast  and  fierce  into  the  camp.  Appalled, 
dismayed,  stupefied  by  the  suddenness  and  greatness  of  their 
loss,  the  Persians  no  longer  sustained  their  fame — they  dis- 
persed in  all  directions,  falling,  as  they  fled,  with  a  prodigious 
slaughter,  so  that  out  of  that  mighjl^ armament  scarce  three 
thousand  effected  an  escape."  '^^ 

8.  Another  writer  remarks  that  "  the  treasure  found  in  the 
camp  of  the  Persians  on  this  occasion  was  immense :  the  fur- 
niture of  the  tents  glittered  with  gold  and  silver  ;  and  vessels 
of  the  same  metals  were  seen  scattered  about  for  ordinary 
use,  and  piled  up  in  wagons."  "  Pausanias,  when  he  entered 
the  tent  of  Mardonius,  and  saw  the  rich  hangings,  the  soft 
carpets,  the  couches  and  tables  shining  with  gold  and  silver, 
ordered  the  Persian  slaves  to  prepare  a  banquet,  such  as  they 
were  used  to  set  out  for  their  master.  When  it  was  spread 
he  bade  his  helots  set  by  its  side  the  simple  fare  of  his  own 
ordinary  meal,  and  then  invited  the  Greek  officers  to  mark  the 
folly  of  tlie  barbarian  who,  with  such  instruments  of  luxury 
at  his  command,  had  come  to  rob  the  Greeks  of  their  scanty 
store." 

9.  When  the  deluge  of  the  Persian  wars  rolled  back  to  its 
Eastern  bed,  and  the  world  was  once  more  comparatively  at 
rest,  the  continent  of  Greece  rose  visibly  and  majestically 
above  the  rest  of  the  civilized  earth.  Then  began  what  has 
been  called  the  "Age  of  Pericles,"  the  era  of  Athenian  great- 
ness, which  has  been  briefly  described  in  a  previous  article,* 
but  to  which  we  again  refer  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the  fol- 
lowing beautiful  extract  descriptive  of  the  glories  and  great- 
ness of  Athens  during  that  period : 

10.  "Nowhere  else,"  remarks  Alison,  "is  to  be  found  a 
state  so  small  in  its  origin,  and  yet  so  great  in  its  progress ; 
so  contracted  in  its  territory,  and  yet  so  gigantic  in  its  achieve- 
ments ;  so  limited  in  numbers,  and  yet  so  immortal  in  genius. 

•  See  the  Part  on  Architecture,  page  285. 


508  WILLSOn's  fifth  BEADJSK.  Part  XI. 

Its  dominions  on  the  continent  of  Greece  did  not  exceed  an 
English  county;  its  free  inhabitants  never  amounted  to  thirty 
thousand  citizens,  and  yet  these  inconsiderable  numbers  have 
filled  the  world  with  their  renown :  poetry,  philosophy,  archi- 
tecture, sculpture,  tragedy,  comedy,  geometry,  physics,  histo- 
ry, politics,  almost  date  their  origin  from  Athenian  genius ; 
and  the  monuments  of  art  with  which  they  have  overspread 
the  world  still  form  the  standard  of  taste  in  every  civilized 
nation  on  earth." 


LESSON"   IX. THE    ERA    OP   GRECIAN   ELOQUENCE   AND   LIT- 
ERATURE. 

1.  The  golden*  age  ofii&recian  eloquence  and  literature  is 
embodied  in  a  period  of  a  hundred  and  thirty  years,  reckon- 
ing from  the  time  of  Pericles ;  and  during  this  period  Athens 
bore  the  palm  alone.  Of  the  many  eminent  Athenian  orators, 
the  most  distinguished  were  Ly'sias,  Isoc'rates,  ^s'chines, 
and  Demos'thenes.  Among  historians  whose  works  are  still 
venerated  may  be  mentioned,  as  most  conspicuous,  the  names 
of  Herod'otus,  Thucyd'ides,  Xen'ophon,  and  Polyb'ius ;  among 
poets  and  dramatists,  ^s'chylus,*  Soph'ocles,  Eurip'ides,  and 
Aristoph'anes ;  and  among  philosophers,  Soc'rates,  Pla'to,  and 
Aristot'le.  Volumes  would  be  requisite  to  describe  the  char- 
acter and  works  of  these  writers,  and  to  convey  a  just  idea 
of  the  indebtedness  of  the  moderns  to  the  lights  which  they 
kindled. 

2.  The  Greeks  were  exceedingly  fond  of  the 'drama,  which 
we  may  now  look  back  upon  as  one  of  the  best  expositors 
of  the  Athenian  mind  in  the  departments  of  politics,  religion, 
and  philosophy.  In  the  tim5  of  Pericles  a  large  number  of 
dramas  was  presented  on  the  Athenian  stage  every  year ; 
the  whole  population  of  Athens  flocked  to  the  theatres  to  wit- 
ness them;  and  when  we  reflect  that  these  representations 
embraced  not  only,  as  at  first,  the  religious  notions  of  the 
Greeks,  but  that  they  were  finally  extended  to  every  subject 
of  political  and  private  life,  we  shall  be  satisfied  that  so  pow- 
erful poetic  influences  were  never  brought  to  act  upon  any 
other  people. 

3.  Of  the  very  great  degree  of  license  which  was  given  to 

•  jEB'chylua  fought  in  thn  hattlo  of  Marathon,  and  also  in  that  of  Sal'amis.  From  one 
of  his  tragedies,  entitled  ''  Tiw  /  Vwnns,"  we  have  given  an  extract  deacriptive  of  the  na- 
val battle  of  Sal'arais.     See  pnge  602. 


Part  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  509 

the  Grecian  drama  in  attacking,  under  the  veil  of  satire,  ex- 
isting institutions,  politicians,  philosophers,  poets,  and  even 
private  citizens  by  name,  some  idea  may  be  formed  from  the 
following  extract  from  '-''The  Knights'''  of  Aristoph'anes,  in 
which  a  chorus  of  singers,  coming  upon  the  stage,  thus  com- 
mences an  attack  upon  Cleon,  a  corrupt  political  demagogue 
who  had  gained  such  consideration  by  flattering  the  lower 
orders  and  railing  at  the  higher,  that  he  stood  in  the  situa- 
tion of  head  of  a  party. 

THE  POLITICAL  DEMAGOGUE. 

Scene :  the  public  market-place  of  Athens. 
Chorus. 

Close  around  him,  and  confound  him,  the  confounder  of  us  all ; 
Pelt  him,  pummel  him,  and  maul  him;  rummage, ransack,  overhaul  him; 
Overbear  him  and  outbawl  him ;  bear  him  down,  and  bring  him  under. 
Bellow  like  a  burst  of  thunder,  Kobber^ !  harpy ^ !  sink  of  plunder^ ! 
Rogue  and  villain^ !  rogue  and  cheat^ !  rogue  and  villain,  I  repeat^ ! 
Oftener  than  I  can  repeat  it,  has  the  rogue  and  villain  cheated. 
Close  around  him,  left  and  right,  spit  upon  him,  spurn  and  smite  : 
Spit  upon  him  as  you  see  ;  spurn  and  spit  at  him  like  me. 
But  beware,  or  he'll  evade  you,  for  he  knows  the  private  track 
Where  Eu'crates  was  seen  escaping  with  his  mill-dust  on  his  back. 

Cleon. 
Worthy  veterans  of  the  jury,  you  that,  either  right  or  wrong, 
With  my  threepenny  provision  I've  maintained  and  cherished  long, 
Come  to  my  aid !  I'm  here  waylaid — assassinated  and  betrayed. 

Chorus. 
Rightly  served^ !  we  serve  you  rightly,  for  your  hungry  love  of  pelf ; 
For  your  gross  and  greedy  rapine,  gormandizing  by  yourself; 
You  that,  ere  the  figs  are  gatliered,  pilfer  with  a  privy  twitch 
Fat  delinquents  and  defaulters,  pulpy,  luscious,  plump,  and  rich  ; 
Pinching,  fingering,  and  pulling — tempering,  selecting,  culling, 
With  a  nice  survey  discerning  which  are  green  and  which  are  turning, 
Which  are  ripe  for  accusation,  foi'feiture,  and  confiscation. 

Him,  besides,  the  wealthy  man,  retired  upon  an  easy  rent, 
Hating  and  avoiding  party,  noble-minded,  indolent, 
Fearful  of  oflicial  snares,  intrigues,  and  intricate  affairs ; 
Him  you  mark  ;  you  fix  and  hook  him,  while  he's  gaping  unawares ; 
At  a  fling,  at  once  you  bring  him  hither  from  the  Chersonese, 
Down  you  castiiim,  roast  and  baste  him,  and  devour  him  at  your  ease. 

Cleon. 
Yes^ !  assault\  insult\  abuse^  me  !  this  is  the  return  I  find 
For  the  noble  testimony,  the  memorial  I  designed  : 
Meaning  to  propose  proposals  for  a  monument  of  stone, 
On  the  which  your  late  achievements  should  be  carved  and  neatly  done. 

Chorus. 
Out,  away^  with  him !  the  slave^ !  the  pompous,  empty,  fawning  knave^ ! 


510  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  xr. 

Does  he  think  with  idle  speeches  to  delude  and  cheat  us  all, 

As  he  does  the  doting  elders  that  attend  his  daily  call'  ? 

Pelt  him  here,  and  bang  him  there ;  and  here,  and  there,  and  every  where. 

Cleon. 
Save  me,  neighbors^ !    Oh  the  monsters^ !    Oh  my  side,  my  back,  my  breast' ! 

Chorus. 
What !  you're  forced  to  call  for  help'  ?  you  brutal,  overpowering  pest' ! 

\_Cleon  is  pelted  off  the  stage,  purstied  by  the  Chorus. 
Aristoph' anes :  translated  by  Mr.  Frere. 


LESSON    X. THE   OLYiyiPIAN   GAMES. 

[The  Olympian  Games,  which  were  celebrated  at  Olympia,  in  Greece,  every  fifth  year, 
consisted  of  horse  and  foot  races,  leaping,  throwing,  wrestling,  and  boxing,  and  other  ath- 
letic exercises.  The  following  description  of  a  chariot-race  is  from  one  of  the  tragedies  of 
Sophocles,  translated  by  Bulwer.  Orestes  had  gained  five  victories  on  the  first  day,  and 
on  the  second  he  starts  with  nine  competitors  in  the  chariot-race :  an  Achaean,  a  Spartan, 
two  Libyans,  an  -(Etolian,  a  Magnesian,  an  Oilman,  an  Athenian,  and  a  Bceotian.  The 
great  art  of  the  charioteer  consisted  in  turning  as  close  as  possible  to  the  goals,  but  with- 
out running  against  them  or  against  the  other  chariots.] 

THE  CHARIOT-RACE,  WITH  THE  DEATH  OF  ORESTES. 

1.  They  took  their  stand  where  the  appointed  judges 
Had  cast  their  lots  and  ranged  the  rival  cars. 
Rang  out  the  brazen  trump  I     Away  they  bound ! 
Cheer  the  hot  steeds  and  shake  the  slackened  reins ; 
As  with  a  body,  the  large  space  is  filled 

With  the  huge  clangor  of  the  rattling  cars ; 
High  whirl  aloft  the  dust-clouds ;  blent  together 
Each  presses  each,  and  the  lash  rings,  and  loud 
Snort  the  wild  steeds,  and  from  their  fiery  breath, 
Along  their  manes,  and  down  the  circling  wheels, 
Scatter  the  flaking  foam. 

2.  •        Ores'tes  still. 
Aye, '  as  he  swept  around  the  perilous  pillar 
Last  in  the  course,  wheeled  in  the  rushing  axle. 
The  left  rein  curbed — that  on  the  outer  hand 
Flung  loose.     So  on  erect  the  chariots  rolled  ! 
Sudden  the  <Eenian's  fierce  and  headlong  steeds 
Broke  from  the  bit,  and,  as  the  seventh  time  now 
The  course  was  circled,  on  the  Libyan  car 

Dashed  their  wild  fronts :  then  order  changed  to  ruin : 
Car  dashed  on  car :  the  wide  Crissaian  plain 
Was,  sea-like,  strewn  with  wrecks:  the  Athenian  saw, 
Slackened  his  speed,  and,  wheeling  round  the  marge, 
Unscathed  and  skillful,  in  the  midmost  space. 
Left  the  wild  tumult  of  that  tossing  storm. 
8.  Behind,  Orestes,  hitherto  the  last. 

Had  kept  back  liis  coAsers  for  the  close ; 
Now  one  sole  rival  left — on,  on  lie  flew. 
And  the  sharp  sound  of  the  impelling  scourge 
Rang  in  the  keen  ears  of  the  flying  steeds. 


Fart  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  611 

He  nears — he  reaches — they  are  side  by  side ; 
Now  one — now  th'  other — by  a  length  the  victor. 
The  courses  all  are  past — the  wheels  erect — 
All  safe — when,  as  the  hurrying  coursers  round 
The  fatal  pillar  dashed,  the  wretched  boy 
Slackened  the  left  rein.     On  the  column's  edge 
Crashed  the  frail  axle — headlong  from  the  car, 
Caught  and  all  mesh'd  within  the  reins,  he  fell ; 
And,  masterless,  the  mad  steeds  raged  along ! 

4.  Loud  from  that  mighty  multitude  arose 

A  shriek — a  shout !     But  yesterday  such  deeds — 
To-day  such  doom  !     Now  whirled  upon  the  earth  ; 
Now  his  limbs  dashed  aloft,  they' dragged  him — those 
Wild  horses — till,  all  gory,  from  the  wheels 
Released — and  no  man,  not  his  nearest  friends, 
Could  in  that  mangled  corpse  have  traced  Orestes. 
They  laid  the  body  on  the  funeral  pyre, 
And  while  we  speak,  the  Phocian  strangers  bear. 
In  a  small,  brazen,  melancholy  urn, 
That  handful  of  cold  ashes  to  which  all 
The  grandeur  of  the  beautiful  hath  shrunk. 
Within  they  bore  him — in  his  father's  land 
To  find  that  heritage — a  tomb. 

»  Aye  (pronounced  a),  always ;  ever.     [Used  in  this  sense  only  in  poetry.] 


LESSON    XI. — TPIE   LATTER   DAYS    OF   GRECIAN    HISTORY. 

1 .  About  fifty  years  after  the  battle  of  Platae'a  the  Grecians 
became  involved  in  a  series  of  domestic  contests,  called  the 
"  Peloponnesian  Wars,"  which  continued,  with  occasional  in- 
tervals of  peace,  until  Philip,  king  of  Macedon,  by  the  suc- 
cessful battle  of  Chserone'a,  broke  up  the  feeble  Grecian  con- 
federacy, and  soon  after  succeeded  in  inducing  the  conquered 
states  to  elect  him  commander-in-chief  of  all  the  Grecian 
forces.  It  was  while  Philip  was  plotting  against  the  liber- 
ties of  Greece  that  his  intrigues  called  forth  from  the  Athen- 
ian Demosthenes,  the  greatest  of  Grecian  orators,  those  fa- 

•  mous  "  Philippic^'^  which  have  immortalized  both  the  orator 
and  the  object  of  his  invectives. 

2.  Alexander  the  Great,  the  son  and  successor  of  Philip, 
carried  out  the  plans  of  his  father  by  a  successful  invasion  of 

•  the  Persian  dominions ;  but  on  his  death,  in  the  thirty-third 
year  of  his  age  (B.C.  324),  the  vast  empire  which  he  had  so 
suddenly  built  up  was  as  suddenly  broken  in  pieces,  and  the 
Grecian  states  again  became  a  prey  to  civil  dissensions,  which 

,  were  terminated  only  by  the  subjugation  of  all  Greece  to  the 
dominion  of  the  Romans,  in  the  year  146  before  the  Christian 


512  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pabt  XI. 

era.  This  point  is  the  proper  termination  of  Grecian  history ; 
for,  "  as  rivers  flow  into  the  sea,  so  does  the  history  of  all  the 
nations  known  to  have  existed  previously  in  the.regions  round 
the  Mediterranean,  terminate  in  the  history  of  Rome." 

3.  With  the  loss  of  her  liberties  the  glory  of  Greece  passed 
away.  Her  population  had  been  gradually  diminishing  since 
the  period  of  the  Persian  w^s ;  and  from  the  epoch  of  the 
Roman  conquest  the  spirit  of  the  nation  sunk  into  despond- 
ency, and  the  energies  of  the  people  gradually  wasted,  until, 
at  the  time  of  the  Christian  era,  Greece  existed  only  in  the 
remembrance  of  the  past.  Then,  many  of  her  cities  were 
desolate,  or  had  sunk  to  insignificant  villages,  while  Athens 
alone  maintained  her  renown  for  philosophy  and  the  arts,  and 
became  the  instructor  of  her  conquerors ;  large  tracts  of  land, 
once  devoted  to  tillage,  Avere  either  barren,  or  had  been  con- 
verted into  j^astures  for  sheep  and  vast  herds  of  cattle ;  while 
the  rapacity  of  Roman  governors  had  inflicted  upon  the  sparse 
population  impoverishment  and  ruin. 


LESSON    XII. EARLY   ROMAN   HISTORY. 

1.  The  early  history  of  Rome,  as  recorded  by  Livy  and 
other  early  writers,  from  the  period  of  the  supposed  founding 
of  the  city  by  Romulus,  about  the  year  V53  B.C.,  down  to 
the  banishment  of  the  Tarquins  and  the  abolition  of  royalty, 
510  B.C. — and  even  perhaps  a  century  or  two  later — is  of 
very  doubtful  authenticity,  and  was  probably  compiled  from 
legendary  poems  that  had  been  transmitted  from  generation 
to  generation,  and  often  rehearsed,  to  the  sound  of  music,  at 
the  banquets  of  the  great. 

2.  The  historian  Macaulay  has  aimed  to  reconstruct  some 
of  these  poetic  legends,  which  he  has  given  to  the  world  un- 
der the  title  of  "Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,"  and  which  are  sup- 
posed to  have  been  recited  by  ancient  minstrels  who  were  in 
no  wise  above  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  their  age  and 
country.  It  is  stated  by  all  the  Latin  historians  that,  a  few 
years  after  the  expulsion  of  the  Tarquins  for  their  despotism 
and  crimes,  the  neigliboring  Etruscans,  to  which  nation  they 
belonged,  endeavored  to  restore  the  tyrants  to  power,  and 
came  against  Rome  with  an  overwhelming  force.  The  Ro- 
mans, repulsed  at  first,  fled  across  a  wooden  bridge  over  the 
Tiber,  when  the  Roman  consul  ordered  the  bridge  to  be  de-^ 
stroyed,  to  prevent  the  enemy  from  entering  the  city.     The 


PabtXI.  ancient  history.  513 

continuation  of  the  legend  is  supposed  to  have  been  narrated 
by  one  of  the  Roman  minstrels,  as  given  in  the  following  les- 
son, at  a  period  one  hundred  years  later  than  the  events 
tl\ere  recorded. 


LESSON"    XIII. THE   STORY    O^    HORATTUS. 

1.  But  the  consul's  brow  was  sad, 

And  the  consul's  speech  was  low, 
And  darkly  looked  he  at  the  wall,  « 

And  darkly  at  the  foe. 
' '  Their  van  will  be  upon  us 

Before  the  bridge  goes  down ;  ^ 

And  if  they  once  may  win  the  bridge, 

What  hope  to  save  the  town  ?" 

2.  Then  out  spoke  brave  Horatius, 

The  captain  of  the  gate  : 
"To  every  man  upon  this  earth 
Death  cometh  soon  or  late. 
„     And  how  can  man  die  better 
Than  facing  fearful  odds 
For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers 
And  the  temples  of  his  gods  ? 

3.  ''Hew  down  the  bridge.  Sir  Consul, 

With  all  the  speed  ye  may ; 
I,  with  two  more  to  help  me, 

Will  hold  the  foe  in  play.  ^ 
In  yon  strait  path  a  thousand 

May  wejH  be  stopped  by  three. 
Now,  who  will  stand  on  either  hand. 

And  keep  the  bridge  with  me?" 

Two  brave  Romans,  Spurius  Lartius  and  Herminius,  re- 
sponded to  the  call  of  their  comrade ;  and  the  three,  with 
arms  in  hand,  sprang  forward  to  defend  the  passage,  while 
others  hastened  to  cut  away  the  props  that  supported  the 
bridge. 

4.  Meanwhile  the  Tuscan  army. 

Right  glorious  to  behold. 
Came  flashing  back  the  noonday  light. 
Rank  behind  rank,  like  surges  bright 

Of  a  broad  sea  of  gold. 
Four  hundred  trumpets  sounded 

A  peal  of  warlike  glee. 
As  that  great  host,  with  measured  tread. 
And  spears  advanced,  and  ensigns  spread, 
•     Rolled  slowly  toward  the  bridge's  head. 

Where  stood  the  dauntless  three. 
Y2 


514  WILLSOn's  fifth  reader.  Part  XL 

6.  The  three  stood  calm  and  silent, 

And  looked  upon  the  foes, 
And  a  great  shout  of  laughter 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose : 
And  forth  three  chiefs  came  spurring 

Before  that  mighty  mass ; 
To  earth  they  sprang,  their  swords  they  drew, 
And  lifted  high  their  shields,  and  flew 

To  win  the  narrow  pass. 

But  the  scorn  and  laughter  of  the  Etruscans  were  soon 
changed  to  wrath  and  curses,  for  their  chiefs  were  quickly 
laid  low  in  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the  "  dauntless  three." 

6.  But  now  no  sound  of  laughter 
-  ^  Was  heard  among  the  foes. 

A  wild  and  wrathful  clamor 

From  all  the  vanguard  rose. 
Six  spears'  length  from  the  entrance 

Halted  that  mighty  mass. 
And  for  a  space  no  man  came  forth 

To  win  the  narrow  pass. 

7.  But  hark !  the  cry  is  Astur : 

And  lo  !  the  ranks  divide, 
And  the  great  Lord  of  Luna 

Comes  with  his  stately  stride. 
Upon  his  ample  shoulders 

Clangs  loud  the  fourfold  shield, 
And  in  his  hand  he  shakes  the  brand 

Which  none  but  he  can  wield. 

The  proud  Astur  advances  with  a  smile  of  contempt  for 
the  three  Romans,  and  turns  a  look  of  scorn  upon  the  flinch- 
ing Tuscans. 

8.  Then,  whirling  up  his  broadsword 

With  both  hands  to  the  height. 
He  rushed  against  Horatius, 

And  smote  with  all  his  might. 
With  shield  and  blade  Horatius 

Right  deftly  turned  the  blow. 
The  blow,  though  turned,  came  yet  too  nigh ; 
It  missed  his  helm,  but  gashed  his  thigh  : 
The  Tuscans  raised  a  joyful  cry 

To  see  the  red  blood  flow. 

i).  He  reeled,  and  on  Herminius 

He  leaned  one  breathing-space ; 
Then,  like  a  wild-cat  mad  with  wounds, 

Sprang  right  at  Astur's  face. 
Through  teeth,  and  skull,  and  helmet. 

So  fierce  a  thrust  he  sped, 
The  good  sword  stood  a  handbreadth  oul 

Behind  the  Tusonn's  hoad. 


Part  XI.  .  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  515 

10.  And  the  great  Lord  of  Luna 

Fell  at  that  deadly  stroke, 
As  falls  on  Mount  Alvernus 

A  thunder-smitten  oak. 
Far  o'er  the  crashing  forest 

The  giant  arms  lie  spread ; 
And  the  pale  augurs,  muttering  low, 

Gaze  on  the  blasted  head. 

In  the  mean  time  the  axes  had  been  busily  plied ;  and  while 
the  bridge  was  tottering  to  its  fall,  Lartius  and  Herminius  re- 
gained the  opposite  bgnk  in  safety.  Horatius  remained  facing 
the  foe  until  the  last  timber  had  fallen,  when,  weighed  down 
with  armor  as  he  was,  he  "  plunged  headlong  in  the  tide." 

11.  No  sound  of  joy  or  sorrow 

Was  heard  from  either  bank ; 
But  friends  and  foes,  in  dumb  surprise, 
With  parted  lips  and  straining  eyes, 

Stood  gazing  where  he  sank  : 
And  when  beneath  the  surges 

They  saw  his  crest  appear, 
All  Rome  sent  forth  a  rapturous  cry, 
And  even  the  ranks  of  Tuscany  ^ 

Could  scarce  forbear  to  cheer. 

12.  But  fiercely  ran  the  cun-ent, 

Swollen  high  by  months  of  rain : 
And  fast  his  blood  was  flowing ; 

And  he  was  sore  in  pain, 
And  heavy  with  his  armor. 

And  spent  with  changing  blows  j 
And  oft  they  thought  him  sinking, 

But  still  again  he  rose. 

13.  "  Curse  on  him !"  quoth  false  Sextus, 

* '  Will  not  the  villain  drown  ? 
But  for  this  stay,  ere  close  of  day 

We  should  have  sacked  the  town !" 
"Heaven  help  him  !"  quoth  Lars  Porsenna, 

"And  bring  him  safe  to  shore; 
For  such  a  gallant  feat  of  arms 

Was  never  seen  before. " 

14.  And  now  he  feels  the  bottom ; 

Now  on  dry  earth  he  stands ; 
Now  round  him  throng  the  fathers, 

To  press  his  gory  hands  ; 
And  now  with  shouts  and  clapping, 

And  noise  of  weeping  loud, 
He  enters  through  the  river-gate, 

Borne  by  the  joyous  crowd. 

Then  follows  an  account  of  the  rewards  which  a  grateful 
people  bestowed  upon  the  hero.  The  minstrel  thus  concludes 
the  legend : 


516  willson's  fifth  readee.  Paet  XI. 

15.  When  the  good  man  mends  his  armor, 

And  trims  his  helmet's  plume ; 
When  the  good  wife's  shuttle  merrily 

Goes  flashing  through  the  loom; 
With  weeping  and  with  laughter 

Still  is  the  story  told, 
How  well  Horatius  kept  the  bridge 

In  the  brave  days  of  old. — Macaulat. 


LESSON   XIV. — PATEICIAN   AND  PLEBEIAN   CONTESTS. 

1.  During  several  hundred  years  after  the  overthrow  of 
royalty,  the  history  of  the  Roman  republic  is  filled  with  ac- 
counts of  the  fierce  civil  contests  which  raged  between  the 
patrician  aristocracy  and  the  common  people  or  plebeians, 
relieved  by  an  occasional  episode  of  a  war  with  some  of  the 
surrounduig  people.  At  first,  the  patricians  were  the  wealthy 
and  ruling  class ;  they  held  all  the  high  military  commands ; 
they  made  the  laws ;  and  they  reduced  the  plebeians  to  a  con- 
dition differing  little  from  the  most  abject  slavery. 

2.  At  length,  in  the  year  493  B.C.,  after  an  open  rupture 
between  these  two  classes,  and  the  withdrawal  of  the  plebeians 
from  the  city,  a  reconciliation  was  efiected,  and  magistrates, 
called  tribunes,  were  allowed  to  be  chosen  by  the  people  to 
watch  over  their  rights,  and  prevent  abuses  of  authority. 
About  forty-five  years  later,  however,  ten  persons,  called  de- 
cem'virs,  who  were  appointed  to  compile  a  body  of  laws  for 
the  commonwealth,  having  managed  to  get  the  powers  of  the 
government  into  their  own  hands,  ruled  in  the  most  tyran- 
nical manner,  and  oppressed  the  plebeians  worse  than  ever. 

3.  But  an  unexpected  event — a  private  injury — accom- 
plished what  wrongs  of  a  more  public  nature  had  failed  to 
efiect.  The  wicked  Appius  Claudius,  a  leading  decemvir,  had 
formed  the  design  of  securing  the  person  of  the  beautiful  Vir- 
ginia, daughter  of  Virginius ;  but,  finding  lier  betrothed  to 
another,  in  order  to  accomplish  his  purpose  he  procured  a 
base  dependent  to  claim  her  as  his  slave.  As  had  been  con- 
certed, Virginia  Avas  brought  before  the  tribunal  of  Appius 
himself,  who  ordered  her  to  be  surrendered  to  the  claimant. 
It  was  then  that  the  distracted  father,  having  no  other  means 
of  saving  his  daughter,  stabbed  her  to  the  heart  in  the  pres- 
ence of  tlie  court  and  the  assembled  people.  The  people  arose 
in  their  might ;  the  power  of  the  "  wicked  ten"  was  over- 
thrown ;  and  Appius,  having  been  impeached,  died  in  prison, 
probably  by  his  own  hand. 


Part  XI.  ancient  history.  517 

4.  About  eighty  years  after  the  death  of  Virginia,  the  ple- 
beians succeeded,  after  a  struggle  of  five  years  against  every 
species  of  fraud  and  violence  (especially  on  the  part  of  Clau- 
dius Crassus,  grandson  of  the  infamous  Appius  Claudius),  in 
obtaining  a  full  acknowledgment  of  their  rights,  and  all  pos- 
sible legal  guarantees  for  their  preservation.  It  is  during 
this  struggle  that  a  popular  poet  (as  Macaulay  supposes),  a 
zealous  adherent  of  the  tribunes,  makes  his  appearance  in  the 
public  market-place,  and  announces  that  he  has  a  new  song 
that  will  cut  the  Claudian  family  to  the  heart.  He  takes  his 
stand  on  the  spot  where,  according  to  tradition,  Virginia, 
more  than  seventy  years  ago,  was  seized  by  the  base  depend- 
ent of  Appius,  and  thus  relates  the  story : 


LESSON   XV. — THE   STORY   OF  VIRGINIA. 

1.  Ye  good  men  of  the  commons,  with  loving  hearts  and  time, 
Who  stand  by  the  bold  tribunes  that  still  have  stood  by  you, 
Come,  make  a  circle  round  me,  and  mark  my  tale  with  care — 

A  tale  of  what  Rome  once  hath  borne,  of  what  Rome  yet  may  bear. 

This  is  no  Grecian  fable,  of  fountains  running  wine. 

Of  maids  with  snaky  tresses,  or  sailors  turned  to  swine. 

Here,  in  this  very  forum,  mider  the  noonday  sun, 

In  sight  of  all  the  people,  the  bloody  deed  was  done. 

Old  men  still  creep  among  us  who  saw  that  fearful  day. 

Just  seventy  years  and  seven  ago,  when  the  wicked  ten  bare  sway. 

2.  Of  all  the  wicked  ten,  still  the  names  are  held  accursed, 
And  of  all  the  wicked  ten,  Appius  Claudius  Avas  the  worst. 
He  stalked  along  the  forum  like  King  Tarquin  in  his  pride ; 
Twelve  axes  waited  on  him,  six  marching  on  a  side ; 

The  townsmen  shrank  to  right  and  left,  and  eyed  askance  with  fear 
His  lowering  brow,  his  curling  mouth,  which  always  seemed  to  sneer: 
That  brow  of  hate,  that  mouth  of  scorn,  marks  all  the  kindred  still, 
For  never  was  there  Claudius  yet  but  wished  the  commons  ill. 
Nor  lacks  he  fit  attendance ;  for  close  behind  his  heels, 
With  outstretched  chin  and  crouching  pace,  the  client  Marcus  steals, 
His  loins  girt  up  to  run  with  speed,  be  the  errand  what  it  may, 
'And  the  smile  flickering  on  his  cheek,  for  aught  his  lord  may  say. 
Where'er  ye  shed  the  honey,  the  buzzing  flies  will  crowd ; 
Where'er  ye  fling  the  can-ion,  the  raven's  croak  is  loud ; 
Where'er  down  Tiber  garbage  floats,  the  greedy  pike  ye  see ; 
And  wheresoe'er  such  lord  is  found,  such  client  still  will  be. 

3.  Then  follows  an  account  of  the  seizing  of  Virginia  by 
Marcus  as  she  was  passing  through  the  market-place,  of  the 
commotion  among  the  people  that  was  occasioned  by  it,  and 
of  the  spirited  but  vain  appeal  which  the  young  IciHus,  the 
lover  of  Virginia,  made  to  the  people  to  rise  and  free  them- 


518  willson's  fifth  reader.  Part  XI. 

selves  from  the  power  of  their  oppressors.  After  a  mock  in- 
vestigation, held  by  Appius  in  the  Roman  forum,  or  open 
market-place,  a  few  days  later,  the  tyrant  was  on  the  point  of 
taking  possession  of  the  maiden,  when  her  father,  who  had  in 
the  mean  time  come  from  the  army  to  protect  his  child,  beg- 
ged permission  to  take  leave  of  her,  and  speak  a  few  words 
to  her  in  private. 

4.  Straightway  Virginius  led  the  maid  a  little  space  aside, 

To  where  the  reeking  shambles  stood,  piled  up  with  horn  and  hide, 
Close  to  yon  low  dark  archway,  where,  in  a  crimson  flood, 
Leaps  down  to  the  great  sewer  the  gurgling  stream  of  blood. 
Hard  by,  a  flesher  on  a  block  had  laid  his  whittle  down : 
Virginius  caught  the  whittle  up,  and  hid  it  in  his  gown. 
And  then  his  eyes  grew  very  dim,  and  his  throat  began  to  swell, 
And  in  a  hoarse,  changed  voice,  he  spake,  "Farewell,  sweet  child! 
farewell ! 

6.  Oh !  how  I  loved  my  darling  !     Though  stem  I  sometimes  he, 
To  thee,  thou  know'st,  I  was  not  so.     Who  could  be  so  to  thee  ? 
And  how  my  darling  loved  me !     How  glad  she  was  to  hear 
My  footstep  on  the  threshold  when  I  came  back  last  year ! 
And  how  she  danced  with  pleasure  to  see  my  civic  crown. 
And  took  my  sword,  and  hung  it  up,  and  brought  me  forth  my  gown ! 
Now,  all  those  things  are  over — yes,  all  thy  pretty  ways. 
Thy  needle-work,  thy  prattle,  thy  snatches  of  old  lays ; 
And  none  will  grieve  when  I  go  forth,  or  smile  when  I  return, 
Or  watch  beside  the  old  man's  bed,  or  weep  upon  .his  urn. 

6.  The  house  that  was  the  happiest  within  the  Roman  walls. 
The  house  that  envied  not  the  wealth  of  Capua's  marble  halls. 
Now,  for  the  brightness  of  thy  smile,  must  have  eternal  gloom, 
And  for  the  music  of  thy  voice,  the  silence  of  the  tomb. 

The  time  is  come.     See  how  he  points  his  eager  hand  this  way ! 

See  how  his  eyes  gloat  on  thy  grief,  like  a  kite's  upon  the  prey ! 

With  all  his  wit,  he  little  deems  that,  spurned,  betrayed,  bereft. 

Thy  father  hath  in  his  despair  one  fearful  refuge  left. 

He  little  deems  that  in  this  hand  I  clutch  what  still  can  save 

Thy  gentle  youth  from  taunts  and  blows,  the  portion  of  the  slave ; 

Yea,  and  from  nameless  evil,  that  passeth  taunt  and  blow — 

Foul  outrage  wliich  thoii  knovvest  not,  which  thou  shalt  never  know. 

Then  clasp  me  round  the  neck  once  more,  and  give  me  one  mora  kiss ; 

And  now,  my  own  dear  little  girl,  there  is  no  way  but  this."  • 

With  that  he  lifted  high  the  steel,  and  smote  her  in  the  side. 

And  in  her  blood  she  sank  to  earth,  and  with  one 'sob  she  died. 

7.  Then,  for  a  little  moment,  all  people  held  their  breath. 
And  through  the  crowded  forum  was  stillness  as  of  death  ; 
And  in  another  moment  brake  forth  from  one  and  all 

A  cry  as  if  the  Volscians  were  coming  o'er  the  wall. 

Till,  with  white  lips  and  bloodshot  eyes,  Virginius  tottered  nigh, 

And  stood  before  the  judgment-seat,  and  held  the  knife  on  high, 

"Oh,  dwellers  in  the  nether  gloom,  avengers  of  the  slain, 

By  this  dear  blood  I  cry  to  you,  do  right  between  ns  twftin  ; 


Part  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  519 

And  even  as  Appius  Claudius  hath  dealt  by  me  and  mine, 
Deal  you  by  Appius  Claudius,  and  all  the  Claudian  line !" 
So  spake  the  slayer  of  his  child,  and  turned,  and  went  his  way ; 
But  first  he  cast. one  haggard  glance  to  where  the  body  lay, 
And  writhed,  and  groaned  a  fearful  groan,  and  then,  with  steadfast  feet. 
Strode  right  across  the  market-place  unto  the  Sacred  Street. 
8.  Then  up  sprang  Appius  Claudius :    "Stop  him,  alive  or  dead ! 
Ten  thousand  pounds  of  copper  to  the  man  who  brings  his  head !" 
He  looked  upon  his  clients,  but  none  would  work  his  will ; 
He  looked  upon  his  lictors,  but  they  trembled,  and  stood  still. 
And,  as  Virginius  through  the  press  his  way  in  silence  cleft, 
Ever  the  mighty  multitude  fell  back  to  right  and  left. 
And  he  hath  passed  in  safety  unto  his  woeful  home. 
And  there  ta'en  horse  to  tell  the  camp  what  deeds  are  done  in  Rome. 

9.  The  people  gathered  around  the  dead  body ;  and  when 
Claudms  attempted  to  disperse  them,  a  furious  onset  was 
made  upon  the  lictors,  who  were  driven  back  severely  wound- 
ed, and  with  garments  torn  in  shii^ds.  A  rush  was  then  made 
at  Appius  himself;  but  when  the  people  could  not  reach  him, 
owing  to  the  crowd  of  his  dependents  who  gathered  around 
him,  they  resorted  to  other  means  of  assault. 

10.  When  stones  began  to  fly. 

He  shook,  and  crouched,  and  wrung  his  hands,  and  smote  upon  his 

thigh. 
"Kind  clients,  honest  lictors,  stand  by  me  in  this  fray ! 
Must  I  be  torn  to  pieces  ?     Home — home  the  nearest  way !" 
While  yet  he  spake,  and  looked  around  with  a  bewildered  air, 
Four  sturd;^  lictors  put  their  necks  beneath  the  curule  chair ; 
And  fourscore  clients  on  the  left,  and  fourscore  on  the  right, 
An-ayed  themselves  with  swords  and  staves,  and  loins  girt  up  for  fight. 
But  though  without  or  staif  or  sword,  so  furious  was  the  throng. 
That  scarce  the  train  with  might  and  ma^n  could  bring  their  lord  along. 

11.  Twelve  times  the  crowd  made  at  him ;  five  times  they  seized  his  gown  ; 
Small  chance  waS  his  to  rise  again,  if  once  they  got  him  down  ; 

And  sharper  came  the  pelting,  and  evermore  the  yell — 

*'  Tribunes !  we  will  have  tribunes !" — rose  with  a  louder  swell : 

And  the  chair  tossed  as  tosses  a  bark  with  tattered  sail, 

When  raves  the  Adriatic  beneath  an  eastern  gale ; 

When  the  Calabrian  sea-marks  are  lost  in  clouds  of  spume, 

And  the  great  Thunder-Cape  has  donned  his  veil  of  inky  gloom. 

12.  One  stone  hit  Appius  in  the  mouth,  and  one  beneath  the  ear ; 

And,  ere  he  reached  Mount  Palatine,  he  swooned  with  pain  and  fear. 

His  cursed  head,  that  he  was  wont  to  hold  so  high  with  pride, 

Now,  like  a  drunken  man's,  hung  down,  and  swayed  from  side  to  side : 

And  when  his  stout  retainers  had  brought  him  to  his  door, 

His  face  and  neck  were  all  one  cake  of  filth  and  clotted  gore. 

As  Appius  Claudius  was  that  day,  so  may  his  grandson  be ! 

God  send  Rome  one  such  other  sight,  and  send  me  there  to  see. 

Macaulay. 


520  willson's  fifth  READEB.  Part  XI. 


LESSON   XVI. — THE   CAETHAGINIAN  WAES. 

1.  After  the  Romans  had  reduced  all  ftaly  to  their  do- 
minion, about  2V0  years  before  the  Christian  era,  they  began 
to  extend  their  influence  abroad,  when  an  interference  with 
the  afiairs  of  Sicily  brought  on  a  war  with  Carthage,  at  that 
time  a  powerful  republic  on  the  northern  African  coast,  su- 
perior in  strength  and  resources  to  the  Roman.  The  Cartha- 
ginians Avere  originally  a  Tyrian  colony  from  Phoenicia ;  and 
not  only  had  they,  at  this  time,  extended  their  dominion  over 
the  surrounding  African  tribes,  but  they  had  foreign  posses- 
sions in  Spain,  and  also  in  Sicily,  Sardinia,  Corsica,  Malta,  and 
other  islands  of  the  Mediterranean. 

2.  In  the  year  263  before  Christ  the  first  Punic*  war  be- 
gan ;  and,  after  it  had  continued  eight  years  with  varied  suc- 
cess, the  Romans  sent  the  Consul  Regulus,  at  the  head  of  a 
large  army,  to  carry  the  war  into  Africa.  On  the  passage 
across  the  Mediterranean,  the  Carthaginian  fleet,  bearing  not 
less  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men,  was  met  and  de- 
feated ;  but  in  a  subsequent  battle  on  land  the  Romans  them- 
selves were  defeated  with  great  loss,  and  Regulus  himself, 
being  taken  prisoner,  was  thrown  into  a  dungeon.  Five  years 
later,  however,  the  Carthaginians  were  in  turn  defeated  in 
Sicily,  with  a  loss  of  twenty  thousand  men,  and  the  capture 
of  more  than  a  hundred  of  their  elephants,  which  they  had 
trained  to  fight  in  the  ranks. 

3.  It  was  then  that  the  Carthaginians  sent  an  embassy  to 
Rome  with  proposals  of  peace.  Regulus  was  taken  from  his 
dungeon  to  accompany  the  embassy,  the  Carthaginians  trust- 
ing that,  weary  of  Iiis  leng  captivity,  he  would  urge  the  sen- 
ate to  accept  the  proflered  terms ;  but  the  inflexible  Roman 
persuaded  the  senate  to  reject  the  proposal  and  continue  the 
war,  assuring  his  countrymen  that  the  resources  of  Carthage 
were  already  nearly  exhausted.  Bound  by  his  oath  to  return 
if  peace  were  not  concluded,  he  voluntarily  went  back,  in  spite 
of  the  prayers  and  entreaties  of  his  friends,  to  meet  the  fate 
which  awaited  him.  It  is  generally  stated  that  after  his  re- 
turn to  Carthage  he  was  tortured  to  death  by  the  exaspera- 
ted Carthaginians.  The  circumstances  of  the  appearance  of 
Regulus  before  the  Roman  senate,  and  his  heroic  self-sacri- 
fice, are  described  in  the  following  lesson. 

•  The  term  Punic  means  simply  "  Carthaglnifin."     The  three  famoua  Carthaginian 
wars  are  usually  called,  in  Roman  history,  "  The  I'unic  Wars." 


Part  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTOEY.  521 


LESSON   Xyil. — EEGULUS   BEFORE  THE   SENATE. 

1.  Urge  me  no  more' ;  your  prayers  are  vain^ ; 

And  even  the  tears  ye  shed^ : 
When  I  can  lead  to  Rome  again 

The  bands  that  once  I  led' ; 
When  I  can  raise  your  legions  slain 
On  swarthy  Libya's  fatal  plain, 

To  vengeance  from  the  dead', 
Then  will  I  seek  once  more  a  home, 
And  lift  a  freeman's  voice  in  Rome ! 

2.  Accursed  moment^ !  when  I  woke 

From  faintness  all  but  death, 
And  felt  the  coward  conqueror's  yoke 

Like  venomed  serpents  wreath 
Round  every  limb :  if  lip  and  eye 
Betrayed  no  sign  of  agony. 

Inly  I  cursed  my  breath  : 
Wherefore,  of  all  that  fought,  was  I 
The  only  wretch  that  could  not  die'  ? 

3.  To  darkness  and  to  chains  consigned, 

The  captive's  fighting  doom, 
I  recked'  not ;  could  they  chain  the  mindy 

Or  plunge  the  soul  in  gloom'  ? 
And  there  they  left  me,  dark  and  lone, 
Till  darkness  had  familiar  grown ; 

Then  from  that  living  tomb 
They  led  me  forth,  I  thought,  to  die^ ; 
Oh  !  in  that  thought  was  ecstasy ! 

4.  But  no !  kind  Heaven  had  yet  in  store 

For  me,  a  conquered  slave, 
A  joy  I  thought  to  feel  no  more. 

Or  feel  but  in  the  grave. 
They  deemed,  perchance,  my  haughtier  mood 
Was  quelled  by  chains  and  solitude  ; 

That  he  who  once  was  brave — 
Was  I  not  brave'  ? — had  now  become 
Estranged  from  honor,  as  from  Rome. 
6.  They  bade  me  to  my  country  bear 

The  offers  these  have  borne ; 
They  would  have  trained  my  lips  to  swear, 

Which  never  yet  have  sworn. 
Silent  their  base  commands  I  heard, 
At  length  I  pledged  a  Roman's  word, 

Unshrinking,  to  return. 
I  go,  prepared  to  meet  the  worst, 
But  I  shall  gall  proud  Carthage  first. 
6.  They  sue  for  peace ;  I  bid  you  spurn 

The  gilded  bait  they  bear ; 
I  bid  you  still,  with  aspect  stem, 

VFar— ceaseless  war — declare. 


522  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pakt  XI. 

Fools  as  they  were,  could  not  mine  eye, 
Through  their  dissembled  calmness,  spy 

The  struggles  of  despair'  ? 
Else  had  they  sent  this  wasted  frame 
To  bribe  you  to  your  country's  shame'  ? 

7.  Your  land — (I  must  not  call  it  mine ; 

No  country  has  the  slave ; 
His  father's  name  he  must  resign, 

And  even  his  father's  grave — 
But  this  not  now) — beneath  her  lies 
Proud  Carthage  and  her  destinies : 

Her  empire  o'er  the  wave 
Is  yours ;  she  knows  it  well,  and  you 
Shall  know,  and  make  her  feel  it  too. 

8.  Ay,  bend  your  brows,  ye  ministers 

Of  coward  hearts,  on  me ; 
Ye  know  no  longer  it  is  hers, 

The  empire  of  the  sea ; 
Ye  know  her  fleets  are  far  and  few, 
Her  bands,  a  mercenary  crew  ; 

And  Kome,  the  bold  and  free. 
Shall  trample  on  her  prostrate  towers, 
Despite  your  weak  and  wasted  powers. 

9.  One  path  alone  remains  for  me  ; 

My  vows  were  heard  on  high  ; 
TJiy  triumphs,  Rome,  /  shall  not  see, 

For  I  return  to  die. 
Then  tell  me  not  of  hope  or  life ; 
I  have  in  Rome  no  chaste,  fond  wife, 

No  smiling  progeny ; 
One  word  concentres  for  the  slave — 
Wife,  children,  country,  all — the  grave. — Dale. 


LESSON   XYIII. — THE   DOWNFALL   OF  CARTHAGE. 

1.  The  first  Punic  war  ended  disastrously  to  Carthage  in 
the  year  240  B.C.  ^Twenty-two  years  later  commenced  the 
second  Punic  war,  m  which  the  Roman  republic  was  at  one 
time  brought  to  the  brink  of  ruin  by  the  superior  military 
skill  of  the  Carthaginian  Hannibal,  who  proved  himself  the 
greatest  general  of  antiquity.  Carrying  the  war  into  Italy, 
he  penetrated  nearly  to  the  gates  of  Rome ;  but  his  army, 
enervated  by  the  luxuries  of  the  conquered  cities,  gradually 
dwindled  away  while  victory  already  perched  upon  its  ban- 
ners. 

2.  Ere  long  Sicily  was  conquered  by  the  Romans,  the  Car- 
thaginian city  of  Syracuse  being  taken  by  storm  after  the 
siege  had  been  a  long  time  protracted  by  the  mechanical  skill 


Part  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  623 

of  the  famous  Archime'des.^  The  youthful  Scipio,  who  re- 
ceived the  title  of  Africanus,  also  carried  the  war  into  Africa ; 
Hannibal,  recalled  from  Italy  to  protect  Carthage,  was  de- 
feated ;  and  the  second  Punic  war  ended  in  the  complete  hu- 
miliation of  Carthage  (202  B.C.). 

3.  But  still  the  very  existence  of  a  rival  and  neighboring 
republic  was  a  thing  which  the  Romans  seem  to  have  made 
up  their  minds  not  to  endure ;  the  expediency  of  a  farther 
war  with  Carthage  was  a  favorite  topic  of  debate  in  the  Ro- 
man senate ;  and  it  is  said  that,  of  the  many  speeches  which 
the  elder  Cato  made  on  this  subject,  all  ended  with  the  sen- 
tence, delenda  est  Carthago^  "  Carthage  must  be  destroyed." 
And  in  a  third  and  final  war^njustly  provoked  by  the  Ro- 
mans, Carthage  was  destroyeJ|  her  walls  being  leveled  with 
the  ground,  and  the  buildings  of  the  city  burned  (146  B.C.). 
The  same  year  witnessed  the  conquest  of  Greece — like  Car- 
thage, the  victim  of  Roman  ambition. 

1  Ae-chi-me'-des.     See  account  of,  p.  324. 


LESSON   XIX. ADDEESS    OP  HANNIBAL   TO  HIS   AKMY  DUR- 
ING  THE    SECOND    CARTHAGINIAN   WAR. 

On  what  side  soever  I  turn  my  eyes,  I  behold  all  full  of 
courage  and  strength.  A  veteran  infantry ;  a  most  gallant 
cavalry :  you,  my  allies,  most  faithful  and  valiant ;  you,  Car- 
thaginians, whom  not  only  your  country's  cause,  but  the  just- 
est  anger  impels  to  battle.  The  hope,  the  courage  of  assail- 
ants, is  always  greater  than  of  those  who  act  upon  the  de- 
fensive. With  hostile  banners  displayed  you  are  come  down 
upon  Italy :  you  bring  the  war.  Grief,  injuries,  indignities,  fire 
your  minds,  and  spur  you  forward  to  revenge.  First,  they 
demanded  me — that  I,  your  general,  should  be  .delivered  #p 
to  them ;  next,  of  all  you  who  had  fought  at  the  siege  of 
Saguntum ;  and  we  were  to  be  put  to  death  by  the  extremest 
tortures.  Proud  and  cruel  nation!  every  thing  must  be 
yours,  and  at  your  disposal.  You  are  to  prescribe  to  us  with 
whom  we  shall  make  war,  with  whom  we  shall  make  peace. 
You  are  to  set  us  bounds ;  to  shut  us  up  within  hills  and 
rivers ;  but  you — you  are  not  to  observe  the  limits  which 
yourselves  have  fixed !  "  Pass  not  the  Iberus."  What  next  ? 
"  Touch  not  the  Saguntines ;  Saguntum  is  upon  the  Iberus ; 
move  not  a  step  toward  that  city."  Is  it  a  small  matter,  then, 
that  you  have  deprived  us  of  our  ancient  possessions,  Sicily 


524  willson's  fifth  reader.  Pakt  XI. 

and  Sardinia?  you  would  have  Spain  too.  Well,  we  shall 
yield  Spain,  and  then — you  will  pass  into  Africa.  Will  pass, 
did  I  say  ?  this  very  year  they  ordered  one  of  their  consuls 
into  Africa,  the  other  into  Spain.  No,  soldiers ;  there  is  noth- 
ing left  to  us  but  what  we  can  vindicate  with  our  swords. 
Come  on,  then.  Be  men.  The  Romans  may,  with  more  safe- 
ty, be  cowards :  they  have  their  own  country  behind  them, 
have  places  of  refuge  to  fly  to,  and  are  secure  from  danger 
in  the  roads  thither ;  but  for  you,  there  is  no  middle  fortune 
between  death  and  victory.  Let  this  be  but  well  fixed  in 
your  minds,  and  once  again  I  say  you  are  conquerors. 


LESSON   XX. — CONTINni^ION   OF   ROMAN  HISTORX. 

1.  A  SHORT  time  after  the  conquest  of  Greece  and  the 
downfall  of  Carthage,  the  animosities  which  had  long  existed 
between  the  patricians  and  plebeians  of  Rome  ripened  into  a 
civil  war,  known  as  the  "dissensions  of  the  Gracchi"  (132 
B.C.),  in  which  the  brothers  Tiberius  and  Caius  Gracchus, 
the  noble  defenders  of  the  rights  of  the  people,  were  slain. 
In  the  Germanic  wars  which  soon  followed,  the  Consul  Ma'ri- 
us  greatly  distinguished  himself,  and  saved  Rome  from  de- 
struction, for  which  the  grateful  people  styled  him  the  third 
founder  of  the  city. 

2.  But  again  civil  war  broke  out  at  Rome,  the  partisans 
of  Sylla,  a  profligate  Roman  general,  being  arrayed  against 
those  of  Ma'rius.  The  latter,  being  compelled  to  flee,  after 
a  series  of  romantic  adventures  escaped  to  Africa.  Being 
landed  at  Carthage,  the  Roman  governor  of  the  district  sent 
to  inform  him  that  unless  he  left  Africa  he  should  be  treated 
as  a  public  enemy.  "  Go  and  tell  him,"  replied  the  wanderer, 
"  that  you  have  seen  the  exile  Ma'rius  sitting  on  the  rnins  of 
Carthage."  There  is  a  moral  sublimity  connected  with  this 
scene,  which  the  pencil  of  the  artist  and  the  pen  of  the  poet 
have  often  been  called  upon  to  portray. 

MARIUS  SEATED  ON  THE  RUINS  OF  CARTHAGE. 

3.  Pillars  are  fallen  at  thy  feet, 

Fanes  quiver  in  the  air ; 
A  prostrate  city  is  thy  seat, 
And  thou  alone  art  there. 

4.  No  change  conies  o'er  thy  noble  brow. 

Though  ruin  is  around  theo  ; 
Thine  eyebeam  burns  as  proudly  now. 
As  when  the  laurel  crowned  thee. 


Pakt  XI.  ANCLBNT   HISTORY.  526 

5.  It  can  not  bend  thy  loftf  soul, 

Though  friends  and  fame  depart ; 
The  car  of  Fate  may  o'er  thee  roll, 
Nor  crush  thy  Roman  heart. 

6.  And  genius  hath  electric  power, 

Which  earth  can  never  tame ; 
Bright  suns  may  scorch,  and  dark  clouds?  lower, 
Its  flash  is  still  the  same. 

7.  The  dreams  we  loved  in  early  life 

May  melt  like  mist  away ; 
High  thoughts  may  seem,  'mid  passions'  strife, 
Like  Carthage  in  decay; 

8.  And  proud  hopes  in  the  human  heart 

May  be  to  ruin  hurled, 
Like  mouldering  monuments  of  art 
Heaped  on  a  sleeping  world : 

9.  '     Yet  th^e  is  something  will  not  die, 

Where  life  hath  once  been  fair ; 
Some  towering  thoughts  still  rear  on  high  ; 
Some  Roman  lingers  there! — Mrs.  Child. 


LESSON"   XXI. ROMAN   GLADIATORIAL   COMBATS. 

1.  Gladiatorial  combats  among  the  Romans  were  origi- 
nally exhibited  at  the  graves  of  deceased  persons.  They  thus 
formed  a  kind  of  funeral  sacrifice,  the  shades  of  the  dead  be- 
ing supposed  to  be  propitiated  with  blood ;  but  in  process  of 
time  the  magistrates  and  wealthy  citizens  gave  shows  of  gladi- 
ators to  entertain  the  people.  The  gladiators  were  composed 
mostly  of  captives  and  slaves,  or  of  condemned  malefactors. 
We  read  with  horror  the  accounts  of  these  barbarous  and 
brutal  gladiatorial  exhibitions ;  and,  were  not  the  historical 
evidence  irrefutable,  we  could  hardly  believe  that  in  the  city 
of  Capua  alone  forty  thousand  gladiators  were  kept,  and  fed, 
and  trained,  to  butcher  each  other  for  the  gratification  of  the 
Roman  people.  Byron's  picture  of  the  dying  gladiator  is 
inimitably  touching  and  beautiful. 

THE  DYING  GLADIATOR. 

2.  I  see  before  me  the  gladiator  lie. 

He  leans  upon  his  hand :  his  manly  brow  ** 

Consents  to  death,  but  conquers  agony, 
And  his  drooped  head  sinks  gradually  low ; 
And  through  his  side  the  last  drops,  ebbing  slow 
From  the  red  gash,  fall  heavy,  one  by  one. 
Like  the  first  of  a  thunder-shower ;  and  now 
'  The  arena  swims  around  him — he  is  gone, 
Ere  ceased  the  inhuman  shout  which  hailed  the  wretch  who  won. 


526 


Pakt  XI. 


3.  He  heard  it,  but  he  heeded  not :  his  eyes 

Were  with  his  heart,  and  that  was  far  away  : 
He  recked  not  of  the  life  he  lost,  nor  prize, 
But  where  his  rude  hut  by  the  Danube  hiy. 
There  were  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play, 
There  was  their  Dacian  mother ;  he,  their  sire, 
Butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday : 
All  this  rushed  with  his  blood.     Shall  he  expire. 
And  unavenged  ?     Arise,  ye  Goths,  and  glut  your  ire. 


LESSON   XXII. — THE   REVOLT   OF   SPARTACUS,  72   B.C. 

1.  After  the  death  of  both  of  the  partisan  leaders,  Marius 
and  Sylla,  a  powerful  Marian  faction  still  existed  in  the  Ro- 
man province  of  Spain  ;  and  although  the  youthful  Pompey, 
afterward  surnamed  the  Great,  and  oth%r  noted  generals, 
were  sent  to  suppress  it,  it  was  several  years  before  the  re- 
bellion was  quelled.  It  was  during  the  continuance  of  this 
war  in  Spain  that  a  formidable  revolt  of  the  slaves,  headed 
by  Spartacus,  a  celebrated  gladiator  of  Capua,  broke  out  in 
Italy. 

2.  At  first  Spartacus  and  his  companions  formed  a  desper- 
ate band  of  robbers  and  murderers,  but  their  numbers  eventu- 
ally increased  to  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  men ;  and 
three  proBtorian  and  two  consular  armies  were  completely  de- 
feated by  them.  The  war  lasted  more  than  two  years,  and 
at  one  time  Rome  itself  w^as  in  danger ;  but  the  rebels,  divi- 
ded among  themselves,  were  finally  overcome,  and  nearly  ex- 
terminated by  the  Pra3tor  Crassus,  the  growing  rival  of  Pom- 
pey. The  circumstances  of  the  revolt  of  Spartacus  have  been 
thus  described : 

3.  "It  liad  been  a  day  of  triumph  in  Capua.  Lentulus, 
returning  with  victorious  eagles,  had  amused  the  populace 
with  the  sports  of  the  amphitheatre  to  an  extent  hitherto  un- 
known even  in  that  luxurious  city.  The  shouts  of  revelry 
had  died  away ;  the  roar  of  the  lion  had  ceased  ;  the  last  loi- 
terer had  retired  from  the  banquet,  and  the  lights  in  the  pal- 
ace of  the  victor  were  extinguished.  The  moon,  piercing  the 
tissue  of  fleecy  clouds,  silvered  the  dew-drops  on  the  corselet 
of  the  Roman  sentinel,  and  tipped  the  dark  -waters  of  the 
Vulturnus  with  a  wavy,  tremulous  light.  No  sound  was 
lieard  save  the  last  sob  of  some  retiring  wave,  telling  its  story 
to  the  smooth  pebbles  of  the  beach ;  and  then  all  was  still  as 
the  breast  when  the  spirit  has  departed.  In  the  deep  recesses 
of  the  amphitheatre  a  band  of  gladiators  were  assemSled, 


Part  XI.  ancient  history.  521 

their  muscles  still  knotted  with  the  agony  of  conflict,  the 
foam  upon  their  lips,  the  scowl  of  battle  yet  lingering  on  their 
brows,  when  Spartacus,  starting  forth  from  amid  the  throng, 
thus  addressed  them : 

SPEECH  OF  SPARTACUS  TO  THE  GLADIATORS. 

4.  " '  Ye  call  me  chief;  and  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief 
who,  for  twelve  long  years,  has  met  upon  the  arena  every 
shape  of  man  or  beast  the  broad  empire  of  Rome  could  fur- 
nish, and  who  never  yet  lowered  his  arm.  If  there  be  one 
among  you  who  can  say  that  ever,  in  public  fight  or  private 
brawl,  my  actions  did  belie  my  tongue,  let  him  stand  forth 
and  say  it.  If  there  be  three  in  all  your  company  dare  face 
me  on  the  bloody  sands,  let  them  come  on.  And  yet  I  was 
not  always  thus — a  hired  butcher,  a  savage  chief  of  still  more 
savage  men !  My  ancestors  came  from  old  Sparta,  and  set- 
tled among  the  vine-clad  rocks  and  citron  groves  of  Syrasella. 
My  early  life  ran  quiet  as  the  brooks  by  which  I  sported ; 
and  when,  at  noon,  I  gathered  the  sheep  beneath  the  shade, 
and  played  upon  the  shepherd's  flute,  there  was  a  friend,  the 
son  of  a  neighbor,  to  join  me  in  the  pastime. 

5.  " '  We  led  our  flocks  to  the  same  pasture,  and  partook 
together  our  rustic  meal.  One  evening,  after  the  sheep  were 
folded,  and  we  were  all  seated  beneath  the  myrtle  which 
shaded  our  cottage,  my  grandsire,  an  old  man,  was  telling  of 
Marathon  and  Leuctra;  and  how,  in  ancient  times,  a  little 
band  of  Spartans,  in  a  defile  of  the  mountains,  had  withstood 
a  whole  army.  I  did  not  then  know  what  war  was ;  but  my 
cheeks  burned,  I  knew  not  why,  and  I  clasped  the  knees  of 
that  venerable  man,  until  my  mother,  parting  the  hair  from 
off*  my  forehead,  kissed  my  throbbing  temples,  ^d  bade  me 
go  to  rest,  and  think  no  more  of  those  old  tales  and  savage 
wars.  That  very  night  the  Romans  landed  on  our  coast.  I 
saw  the  breast  that  had  nourished  me  trampled  by  the  hoof 
of  the  war-horse ;  the  bleeding  body  of  my  father  flung  amid 
the  blazing  rafters  of  our  dwelling ! 

6.  " '  To-day  I  killed  a  man  in  the  arena;  and  when  I  broke 
his  helmet-clasps,  behold,  he  was  my  friend.  He  knew  me, 
smiled  faintly,  gasped,  and  died ;  the  same  sweet  smile  upon 
his  lips  that  I  had  marked  when,  in  adventurous  boyhood,  we 
scaled  the  lofty  cliff  to  pluck  the  first  ripe  grapes,  and  bear 
them  home  in  childish  triumph.  I  told  the  praetor  that  the 
dead  man  had  been  my  friend,  generous  and  brave,  and  I  beg- 
ged that  I  might  bear  away  the  body,  to  burn  it  on  a  funeral 


528 


Part  XI. 


pile,  and  mourn  over  its  ashes.  Ay,  upon  my  knees,  amid  the 
dust  and  blood  of  the  arena,  I  begged  that  poor  boon,  while 
all  the  assembled  maids  and  matrons,  and  the  holy  virgins 
they  call  Vestals,  and  the  rabble,  shouted  in  derision,  deeming 
it  rare  sport,  forsooth,  to  see  Rome's  fiercest  gladiator  turn 
pale  and  tremble  at  sight  of  that  ^^ece  of  bleeding  clay! 
And  the  praetor  drew  back  as  I  were  pollution,  and  sternly 
said,  "  Let  the  carrion  rot ;  there  are  no  noble  men  but  Ro- 
mans !"  And  so,  ioilow-gladiators^  must  you,  and  so  must  I, 
die  like  dogs.  Oh  Rome!  Rome!  thou  hast  been  a  tender 
nurse  to  me.  Ay,  thou  hast  given  to  that  poor,  gentle,  timid 
shepherd-lad,  who  never  knew  a  harsher  tone  than  a  flute- 
note,  muscles  of  iron  and  a  heart  of  flint ;  taught  him  to  drive 
the  sword  through  plaited  mail  and  links  of  rugged  brass, 
and  warm  it  in  the  marrow  of  his  foe ;  to  gaze  into  the  glar- 
ing eyeballs  of  the  fierce  Numidian  lion,  even  as  a  boy  upon 
a  laughing  girl.  And  he  shall  pay  thee  back,  until  the  yel- 
low Tiber  is  red  as  frothing  wine,  and  in  its  deepest  ooze  thy 
life-blood  lies  curdled ! 

Y.  "  '  Ye  stand  here  now  like  giants,  as  ye  are.  The 
strength  of  brass  is  in  your  toughened  sinews ;  but  to-mor- 
row some  Roman  Adonis,  breathing  sweet  perfume  from  his 
curly  locks,  shall  with  his  lily  fingers  pat  your  red  brawn, 
and  bet  his  ses'terces  upon  your  blood.  Hark !  hear  ye  yon 
lion  roaring  in  his  den?  'Tis  three  days  since  he  tasted 
flesh ;  but  to-morrow  he  shall  break  his  fast  upon  yours,  and 
a  dainty  meal  for  him  ye  will  be.  If  ye  are  beasts^  then  stand 
here  like  fat  oxen,  waiting  for  the  butcher's  knife !  If  ye  are 
men^  follow  me !  Strike  down  yon  guard,  gain  the  mountaui 
passes,  and  there  do  bloody  work,  as  did  your  sires  at  old 
Therraopylaaif'  Is  Sparta  dead?  Is  the  old  Grecian  spirit 
frozen  in  your  veins,  that  you  do  crouch  and  cower  like  a  be- 
labored hound  beneath  his  master's  lash?  Oh,  comrades! 
warriors !  Thracians !  if  we  must  fight,  let  us  fight  for  our- 
selves !  If  we  must  slaughter,  let  us  slaughter  our  oppress- 
ors !  If  we  must  die,  let  it  be  under  the  clear  sky,  by  the 
bright  waters,  in  noble,  honorable  battle.'  " — E.  Kellogg. 


LESSON    XXIII. — THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   CATILINE. 

Scarcely  had  the  revolt  of  Spartacus  been  quelled,  when 
the  Roman  republic  was  brought  to  the  brink  of  destruction 
by  a  conspiracy  headed  by  the  infamous  Catiline,  a  monster 


PaktXI.  ancient  history.  529 

of  wickedness,  who  had  *acted  a-  distinguished  part  in  the 
bloody  scenes  of  Scylla's  tyranny.  At  this  time  Caesar  and 
Crassus,  who,  next  to  Pompey,  were  the  most  distinguished 
of  the  Roman  generals,  were  so  engaged,  in  their  aspirations 
for  power,  in  courting  the  favor  of  the  people,  that  they  not 
only  spared  Catiline,  but  perhaps  secretly  encouraged  him, 
while  the  only  two  eminent  Romans  who  boldly  determined 
to  uphold  their  falling  country  were  Cato  the  younger  and 
the  orator  Cicero.  Even  in  the  very  senate-house  Catiline 
boldly  confronted  Cicero,  who  there  pronounced  against  him 
that  famous  oration  which  caused  the  banishment  of  the  trai- 
tor and  saved  the  city.  We  give  the  following  picture  of  the 
scene  which  is  supposed  to  have  transpired  in  the  senate  on 
this  occasion. 

Cicero.  Our  long  dispute  must  close.     Take  one  proof  more 
Of  this  rebellion.     Lucius  Catiline 
Has  fceen  commanded  to  attend  the  senate. 
He  dares  not  come.     I  now  demand  your  votes.    ' 
Is  he  condemned  to  exile  ? 

\_Enter  Catiline  hastily.     As  he  seats  himself  on  one  side,  all  the  senators 
go  over  to  the  other. 

Cic.  (Turning  to  Catiline.^  Here  I  repeat  the  charge,  to  gods  and  men, 
Of  treasons  manifold — that,  but  this  day, 
He  has  received  dispatches  from  the  rebels ; 
That  he  has  leagued  with  deputies  from  Gaul 
To  seize  the  province;  nay,  he  has  levied  troops, 
And  raised  his  rebel  standard ;  that,  but  now, 
A  meeting  of  conspirators  was  held 
Under  his  roof,  with  mystic  rites  and  oaths, 
Pledged  round  the  body  of  a  murdered  slave. 
To  these  he  has  no  answer.  -^^ 

Catiline.  Conscript  fathers, 

I  do  not  rise  to  waste  the  night  in  words : 
Let  that  plebeian  talk ;  'tis  not  my  trade ; 
But  here  I  stand  for  right ! — Let  him  show  proofs  ! — 
For  Roman  right ;  though  none,  it  seems,  dare  stand 
To  take  their  share  with  me.     Ay,  cluster  there ! 
Cling  to  your  master,  judges,  Romans,  slaves  ! 
His  charge  \s  false.     I  dare  him  to  his  proofs. 
You  have  my  answer :  let  my  actions  speak. 

dc.  (Interrupting.)   Deeds  shall  convince  you.     Has  the  traitor  done  ? 

Cat.  But  this  I  will  avow,  that  I  have  scorned, 
And  still  do  scorn,  to  hide  my  sense  of  wrong. 
Who  brands  me  on  the  forehead,  breaks  my  sword. 
Or  lays  the  bloody  scourge  upon  my  back, 
Wrongs  me  not  half  so  much  as  he  who  shuts 
The  gates  of  honor  on  me,  turning  out 
The  Roman  from  his  birthright,  and  for  what^  ? 

To  fling  your  oflSces  to  every  slave  ;  [Looking  around. 

Vipers,  that  creep  where  man  disdains  to  climb ; 

z 


530  willson's  fifth  keadee.  PaktXI. 

And,  having  wound  their  loathsome  track  tft  the  top 
Of  this  huge,  mouldering  monument  of  Rome, 
Hang  hissing  at  the  nobler  men  below. 

Cic.  This  is  his  answer.     Must  I  bring  more  proofs  ? 
Fathers,  you  know  there  lives  not  one  of  us, 
But  lives  in  peril  of  his  midnight  sword. 
Lists  of  proscription  have  been  handed  round, 
fn  which  your  properties  are  made 
Your  murderer's  hire. 

[^A  cry  without,  '•'■  More  prisoners  T^     Enter  an  officer  ivith  letters  for  Cic- 
ero, who,  after  looking  at  them,  sends  them  round  the  senate. 

Cic.  Fathers  of  Rome,  if  men  can  be  convinced 
By  proof  as  clear  as  daylight,  here  it  is. 
Look  o;i  these  letters.     Here's  a  deep-laid  plot 
To  wreck  the  provinces ;   a  solemn  league, 
Made  with  all  form  and  circumstance.     The  time 
Is  desperate — all  the  slaves  are  up — Rome  shakes ! 
The  heavens  alone  can  tell  how  near  our  graves 
We  stand  even  here !     The  name  of  Catiline 
Is  foremost  in  the  league.     He  was  their  king. 
Tried  and  convicted  traitor,  go  from  Rome  ! 

Cat.  (Rising  haughtily.)  Come,  consecrated  lietors,  from  your  thrones. 

\^To  the  senators. 
Fling  down  your  sceptres  ;  take  the  rod  and  axe, 
And  make  the  murder,  as  you  make  the  law. 

Cic.  (To  an  officer.")  Give  up  the  record  of  his  banishment, 

[  The  officer  gives  it  to  the  consul. 

Cat.  (With  indignation.')  Banished  from  Rome'?     What's  banished,  but 
set  free 
From  daily  contact  of  the  things  I  loathe'  ? 
*' Tried  and  convicted  traitor' !"     Who  says  this^? 
Who'll  prove  it,  at  his  peril,  on  my  head'  ? 
Banished'  ?  '-i  thank  you  for  't.     It  breaks  my  chain. 
I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour, 
But  now  my  sword's  my  own.     Smile  on,  my  lords. 
I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes. 
Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs, 
I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up, 
To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 
But  here  I  stand  and  scoffi''  you :  here  I  fling 
Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face. 
Your  consul's  merciful.     For  this,  all  thanks. 
He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline. 

Consul.  (Reads.)  *'  Lucius  Scrgius  Catiline,  by  the  decree  of  the  senate, 
you  are  declared  an  enemy  and  alien  to  the  state,  and  banished  from  the 
territory  of  the  commonwealth."  [  Jjovjim;  to  the  lic.tors. 

Lietors,  drive  the  traitor  from  the  temple. 

Cat.   *'  Traitor !"     I  go— but  I  return.     This  trial  I 
Here  I  devote  your  senate.     I've  had  wrongs 
To  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age. 
And  make  the  infant's  sinews  strong  as  steel. 
This  day's  the  birth  of  sorrows.     This  hour's  work 
Will  breed  proscriptions.     Look  to  yotir  hearths,  my  lonls  ! 
For  there  henceforth  shall  sit,  for  household  gods. 


Part  XL  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  531 

Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus !  all  shames  and  crimes — 
"Wan  Treachery,  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn ; 
Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup  ; 
Naked  Rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  axe, 
Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  thrones  ; 
Till  Anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  night, 
And  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave. — Ckolt. 


LESSON   XXIV. — WARS  of  c^sar  and  pompey — death 

OF    CATO. 

1.  Soon  after  the  conspiracy  of  Catiline,  which  was  quelled 
after  a  brief  struggle  by  the  energy  of  Cicero,  civil  war  broke 
out  between  the  adherents  of  Caesar  and  Pompey,  and  the 
vast  Roman  world  was  divided  into  two  hostile  camps.  In 
a  great  battle,  which  was  fought  on  the  plains  of  Pharsalia, 
in  Thessaly,  Caesar  was  victorious,  and  Pompey,  fleeing  to 
Egypt,  was  slain  by  order  of  the  Egyptian  king  Ptolemy, 
who  hoped  thereby  to  secure  the  favor  of  Caesar. 

2.  After  the  fall  of  Pompey,  Caesar  passed  into  Africa, 
where  was  a  large  party  still  opposed  to  him,  headed  by 
Cato,  the  sons  of  Pompey,  and  other  generals.  These  he  de- 
feated in  battle ;  after  which  Cato,  having  advised  his  follow- 
ers not  to  continue  their  resistance,  committed  suicide.  He 
had  seen,  he  said,  the  republic  passing  away,  and  he  could 
live  no  longer.  After  having  read  Plato  on  the  Immortality 
of  the  Soul  twice  over,  as  if  to  prepare  his  mind  for  the  deed 
which  he  meditated,  he  is  supposed  to  have  indulged  in  the 
following  soliloquy : 

CATO'S  SOLIl^QUY. 

[Thia  should  be  read  or  spoken  deliberately,  and  the  countenance  and  voice  should  in- 
dicate that  the  mind  is  employed  in  solemn  contemplation.] 

3.  It  must  be  so.     Plato',  thou  reasonest  weir  ! 
Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope\  this  fond  desire\ 
This  longing  after  immortality^  ? 

Or  whence  this  secret  dread  and  inward  horror 
Of  falling  into  naught^  ?     Why  shrinks  the  soul 
Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction'  ? 
'Tis  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us  : 
'Tis  heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter, 
And  intimates  eternity  to  man. 

4.  Eternity^ !  thou  pleasing,  dreadful  thought^ ! 
Through  what  variety  of  untried  being, 

Through  what  new  scenes  and  changes  must  we  pass^  ? 
The  wide,  the  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  ni(! : 
Here  will  I  hold.     If  there's  a  Power  above  us 


532  willson's  fifth  reader.  PaktXL 

(And  that  there  is,  all  nature  cries  aloud 

Through  all  her  works),  he  must  delight  in  virtue ; 

And  that  which  he  delights  in  must  be  happy. 

But  when^  ?  or  where'  ?     This  world  was  made  for  Caesar. 

I'm  weary  of  conjectures— this  must  end  them. 

[Laying  his  hand  on  his  swprd. 
6.  Thus  I  am  doubly  arm'd.     My  death  and  life, 

My  bane  and  antidote,  are  both  before  me. 
This,  in  a  moment,  brings  me  to  my  end ; 
But  this  informs  me  I  shall  never  die. 
The  soul,  secured  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point. 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years ; 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  amid  the  war  of  elements, 
The  wreck  of  matter,  and  the  crush  of  worlds. — Addison. 


LESSON   XXV. — THE  DEATH   OF  C^SAB. 

1.  After  Caesar  had  finished  the  war  in  Africa,  the  Roman 
senate  created  him  dictator  for  ten  years ;  he  was  appointed 
censor  of  the  public  morals,  and  his  statue  was  placed  oppo- 
site that  of  Jupiter  in  the  Capitol,  and  on  it  was  inscribed 
"  To  Ca3sar,  the  demigod."  Not  long  afterward  he  was  made 
dictator  for  life,  with  the  title  of  imperator,  and  all  the  pow- 
ers of  sovereignty  were  conferred  upon  him,  although  the 
outward  form  of  the  republic  was  allowed  to  remain. 

2.  The  people,  however,  soon  became  suspicious  that  he 
courted  the  title  of  king ;  and  a  large  number  of  senators, 
headed  by  the  prjetprs  Cassius  and  Brutus,  formed  a  conspir- 
acy to  take  his  life,  and  ^ped  on  the  day  of  the  meeting  of 
the  senate  for  the  execution  of  their  plot.  As  soon  as  Ca3sar 
had  taken  his  seat  in  the  senate-house,  the  conspirators  crowd- 
ed around  him,  and  as  one  of  them,  pretending  to  urge  some 
request,  laid  hold  of  his  robe  as  if  in  the  act  of  supplication, 
the  others,  Brutus  among  the  number,  rushed  upon  him  with 
drawn  daggers,  and  he  fell,  pierced  with  twenty-three  wounds, 
at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue,  which  was  sprinkled  with  his 
blood.  The  scenes  which  followed — the  speech  of  Brutus  in 
defense  of  the  deed,  and  the  artful  funeral  oration  of  Antony, 
by  which  the  fickle  populace  were  roused  to  demand  venge- 
ance upon  the  conspirators,  are  well  set  forth  in  the  following 
extract  from  Shakspeare : 


Part  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  533 

Scene :  the  Roman  forum. 
Enter  Brutus  and  Cassius,  and  a  throng  of  citizens. 

Cit.  "We  will  be  satisfied  ;  let  us  be  satisfied. 

B7-U.  Then  follow  me,  and  give  me  audience,  friends. 
Cassius,  go  you  into  the  other  street, 
And  part  the  numbers. 

Those  that  will  hear  me  speak',  let  them  stay  here^ ; 
Those  that  will  follow  Cassius',  go  with  him^ ; 
And  public  reasons  shall  be  rendered 
Of  Caesar's  death. 

1st  Cit.  I  will  hear  Brutus  speak. 

2c?  Cit.  I  will  hear  Cassius ;  and  compare  their  reasons 
When  severally  we  hear  them  rendered. 

\_Exit  Cassius,  with  some  of  the  citizens.     Brutus  goes  into  the  rostrum. 

3d  Cit.  The  noble  Brutus  is  ascended :  Silence ! 

Bru.  Be  patient  till  the  last. 
Romans',  countrymen,'  and  lovers^ !  hear  me  for  my  cause ;  and  be  silent, 
that  you  may  hear :  believe  me  for  mine  honor ;  and  have  respect  to  mine 
honor,  that  you  may  believe  :  censure  me  in  your  wisdom ;  and  awake  your 
senses,  that  you  may  the  better  judge.  If  there  be  any  in  this  assembly', 
any  dear  friend  of  Caesar's',  to  him  I  say  that  Brutus's  love  to  Caesar  was 
no  less  than  his.  If  then  that  friend  demand  why  Brutus  rose  against 
Caesar',  this  is  my  answer^ — Not  that  I  loved  Csesar  less',  but  that  I  loved 
Rome  more\  Had  you  rather  Caesar  were  living,  and  die  all  slaves',  than 
that  Caesar  were  dead,  to  live  all  freemen'  ?  As  Csesar  loved  me',  I  weep' 
for  him ;  as  he  was  fortunate',  I  rejoice'  at  it ;  as  he  was  valiant,'  I  honor' 
him;  but,  as  he  was  ambitious,  I  slew'  him.  There  are  tears'  for  his  love', 
joy'  for  his  fortune',  honor'  for  his  valor',  and  death'  for  his  ambition. 
Who  is  here  so  base  that  would  be  a  bondman'  ?  If  any,  speak  ;  for  him 
have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  rude  that  would  not  be  a  Roman?  If 
any,  speak ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  Who  is  here  so  vile  that  will  not 
love  his  country  ?  If  any,  speak ;  for  him  have  I  offended.  I  pause  for  a 
reply. 

Cit.  None',  Brutus',  none\  ^Several  {speaking  at  once. 

Bru.  Then  none  have  I  offended.  I  have  done  no  more  to  Caesar  than 
you  should  do  to  Brutus.  The  question  of  his  death  is  enrolled  in  the  Cap- 
itol ;  his  glory  not  extenuated,  wherein  he  was  worthy ;  nor  his  offenses 
enforced,  for  which  he  suffered  death. 

Enter  Antony  and  others,  with  Ccesar^s  body. 
Here  comes  his  body,  mourned  by  Mark  Antony ;  who,  though  he  had  no 
hand  in  his  death,  shall  receive  the  benefit  of  his  dying,  a  place  in  the  com- 
monwealth ;  as  which  of  you  shall  not  ?  With  this  I  depart — that,  as  I 
slew  my  best  lover  for  the  good  of  Rome,  I  have  the  same  dagger  for  myself, 
when  it  shall  please  my  country  to  need  my  death. 

Cit.  Live,  Brutus,  live !  live ! 

1st  Cit.  Bring  him  with  triumph  home  to  his  house.     , 

2d  Cit.  Give  him  a  statue  with  his  ancestors. 

3c?  Cit.  Let  him  be  Caesar. 

4fA  Cit.  Caesar's  better  parts 

Shall  now  be.  crowned  in  Brutus. 

1st  Cit.  We'll  bring  him  to  his  house  with  shouts  and  clamors. 

Bru.  My  countrvmen — 

Z* 


534  WILLSON's  fifth   reader.  PaktXI. 

2d  Cit.  Peace  1  silence !    Brutus  speaks. 

1st  Cit.  Peace,  hoi 

Bru.  Good  countrymen,  let  me  depart  alone. 
And,  for  my  sake,  stay  here  with  Antony : 
Do  grace  to  Caesar's  corpse,  and  grace  his  speech 
Tending  to  Caesar's  glories,  which  Mark  Antony, 
By  our  permission,  is  allowed  to  make. 
I  do  entreat  you,  not  a  man  depart. 
Save  I  alone,  till  Antony  have  spoke.  [Exit. 

1st  Cit.  Stay,  ho !  and  let  us  hear  Mark  Antony. 

3c/  Cit.  Let  him  go  up  into  the  public  chair ; 
"We'll  hear  him.     Noble  Antony,  go  up. 

Ant.  For  Brutus'  sake,  I  am  beholden  to  you. 

4<A  Cit.  What  does  he  say  of  Brutus  ? 

Zd  Cit.  He  says,  for  Brutus'  sake, 

He  finds  himself  beholden  to  us  all. 

Uh  Cit.  'Twere  best  he  speak  no  harm  of  Brutus  here. 

1st  Cit.  This  Caesar  was  a  tyrant. 

3c?  Cit.    "  Nay,  that's  certain : 

We  are  blessed  that  Rome  is  rid  of  him. 

2d  Cit.  Peace ;  let  us  hear  what  Antony  can  say. 

Ant.  You  gentle  Romans — 

Cit.  Peace,  ho !  let  us  hear  him. 

Ant.  Friends',  Romans',  countrymen',  lend  me  your  ears ; 
I  come  to  btiry''  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him'. 
The  evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them ; 
The  good  is  oft  interred  with  their  bones : 
So  let  it  be  with  Caesar.     The  noble  Brutus 
Hath  told  you  Caesar  was  ambitious : 
If  it  were  so,  it  were  a  grievous  fault, 
And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it. 
Here,  under  leave  of  Brutus,  and  the  rest 
(For  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man^  ;* 
So  are  they  air,  all  honorable  men*), 
Come  I  to  speak  in  Caesar's  funeral. 
He  was  my  friend\  faithful  and  just^  to  me ; 
But  Brutus*  says'  he  was  ambitious^ ; 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man\ 
He  hath  brought  many  captives  home  to  Rome, 
Whose  ransoms  did  the  general  coffers  fill : 
Did  this  in  Caesar  seem  ambitious'  ? 
When  that  the  poor  have  cried',  Caesar  hath  wept* : 
Ambition  should  be  made  of  sterner  stuff; 
Yet  Brutus  says*  he  was  ambitious' ; 
And  Brutus  is  an  honorable  man\ 
You  did  all  see  that  on  the  Lupercal 
I  thrice  presented  him  a  kingly  crown. 
Which  he  did  thrice  refuse.     Was  this  ambition  ? 
Yet  Brutus  says*  he  was  ambitious' ; 
And  sure  he  is  an  honorable  man\ 

•  The  falling  Inflection  In  frequently  given  to  "honorable,"  and  the  rising  to  "  man:" 
hut  Antony  would  hardly  have  ventured  upon  irony  so  open,  while  his  auditors  were  m 
little  prepared  for  it.  The  rising  circumflex  nhould  bo  distinctly  given  to  the  word  "  hon- 
orable." 


Paet  XI.  ANCIENT   HISTORY.  535 

I  speak  not  to  disprove  what  Brutus  spoke, 
But  here  I  am  to  speak  what  I  do  know. 
You  all  did  love  him  once  ;  not  without  cause ; 
What  cause  withholds  you,  then,  to  mourn^  for  him  ? 
Oh  judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 
And  men  have  lost  their  reason !     Bear  with  me ; 
My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 
And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me, 

1st  Cit.  Methinks  there  is  much  reason  in  his  sayings. 

2d  Cit.  If  thou  consider  rightly  of  the  matter, 
Caesar  has  had  great  wrong. 

3o?  Cit.  Has  he,  masters  ? 

I  fear  there  will  a  worse  come  in  his  place. 

Aith  Cit.  Marked  ye  his  words  ?     He  would  not  take  the  crown ;  there- 
fore 'tis  certain  he  was  not  ambitious. 

1st  Cit.  If  it  be  found  so,  some  will  dear  abide  it. 

2d  Cit.  Poor  soul !  his  eyes  are  red  as  fire  with  weeping. 

Sd  Cit.  There's  not  a  nobler  man  in  Rome  than  Antony. 

4ith  Cit.  Now  mark  him ;  he  begins  again  to  speak. 

Ant.  But  yesterday,  the  word  of  Csesar  might 
Have  stood  against  the  world^ :  now  lies  he  there, 
And  none  so  poor  to  do  him  reverence. 
Oh  masters^ !  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 
I  should  do  Brutus^  wrong,  and  Cassius^  wrong. 
Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men\ 
I  will  not  do  them  wrong ;  I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead\  to  wrong  myself,  and  you, 
Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men\ 
But  here's  a  parchment  with  the  seal  of  Csesar ; 
I  found  it  in  his  closet ;  'tis  his  will : 
Let  but  the  commons  hear  this  testament 
(Which,  pardon  me,  I  do  not  mean  to  read). 
And  they  would  go  and  kiss  dead  Caesar's  wounds, 
And  dip  their  napkins  in  his  sacred  blood ;     * 
Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory. 
And,  dying,  mention  it  within  their  wills, 
Bequeathing  it  as  a  rich  legacy 
Unto  their  issue. 

4:th  Cit.  We'll  hear  the  will.     Read  it,  Mark  Antony. 

Cit.  The  will,  the  will ;  we  will  hear  Cesar's  will. 

Ant.  Have  patience,  gentle  friends ;  I  must  not  read  it ; 
It  is  not  meet  you  know  how  Caesar  loved  you. 
You  are  not  wood,  you  are  not  stones,  but  men ; 
And,  being  men,  hearing  the  will  of  Caesar, 
It  will  inflame  you,  it  will  make  you  mad : 
'Tis  good  you  know  not  that  you  are  his  heirs  ; 
For,  if  you  should,  oh,  what  would  come  of  it ! 

4tth  Cit.  Read  the  will ;  we  will  hear  it,  Antony ; 
You  shall  read  us  the  will — Caesar's  will. 

Ant.  Will  you  be  patient  ?     Will  you  stay  a  while  ? 
I  have  o'ershot  myself  to  tell  you  of  it. 
I  fear  I  wrong  the  honorable  men 
Whose  daggers  have  stabbed  Caesar:  I  do  fear  it. 


636  willson's  fifth  reader.  Paet  XI. 

4:th  Cit.  They  were  traitors^     Honorable  men' ! 
at.  The  will !  the  testament ! 

2d  Cit.  They  were  villains,  murderers.     The  will — read  the  will  I 

Ant.  You  will  compel  me,  then,  to  read  the  will  ? 
Then  make  a  ring  about  the  corpse  of  Caesar, 
And  let  me  show  you  him  that  made  the  will. 
Shall  I  descend  ?    And  will  you  give  me  leave? 

Cit.  Come  down. 

2d  Cit.  Descend.  [He  comes  down  from  the  pulpit. 

3d  Cit.  You  shall  have  leave. 

4:th  Cit.  A  ring;  stand  round. 

1st  Cit.   Stand  from  the  hearse,  stand  from  the  body. 

2d  Cit.  Room  for  Antony — most  noble  Antony. 

Ant.  Nay,  press  not  so  upon  me ;  stand  far  off. 

Cit.  Stand  back  !  room !  bear  back ! 

Ant.  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle :  I  remember 
The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on  ; 
'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent — 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii. 
Look !  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through  ; 

See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made ;  ■ 

Through  this,  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabbed ; 
And,  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it, 
As  rushing  out  of  doors,  to  be  resolved 
If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knocked  or  no ; 
For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel : 
Judge,  oh  you  gods,  how  dearly  Caesar  loved  him ! 
This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all ; 
For,  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab. 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 
Quite  vanquished  him.     Then  burst  his  mighty  heart ; 
And,  in  his  mantle  muffling  up  his  face, 
Even  at  the  base  of  Pompe^s  statue. 
Which  all  the  while  ran  blood,  great  Caesar  fell. 
Oh,  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  I 
Then  I,  and  you,  and  all  of  us  fell  down, 
While  bloody  treason  flourished  over  us. 
Oh,  now  you  weep ;  and,  I  perceive,  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity :  these  are  gracious  drops. 
Kind  souls,  what,  weep  you,  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded  ?     Look  you  here ; 
Here  is  himself,  marred,  as  you  see,  with  traitors. 

1st  Cit.  Oh  piteous  spectacle! 

2c?  Cit.  Oh  noble  Cffisar ! 

3d  Cit.  Oh  woeful  day ! 

4/A  Cit.  Oh  traitors,  villains !  t 

1st  Cit.  Oh  most  bloody  sight ! 

2d  Cit.  We  will  be  revenged :  revenge ;  about — seek — burn,  fire — kill — 
slay !  let  not  a  traitor  live. 

Ant.  Stay,  countrymen. 

1st  Cit.  Peace,  there  1  hear  the  noble  Antony. 

2d  Cit.  We'll  hear  him,  we'll  follow  him,  we'll  die  with  liim. 


PabT  XI.  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  687 

Ant.  Good  friends,  sweet  friends,  let  me  not  stir  you  up 
To  such  a  sudden  flood  of  mutiny. 
They  that  have  done  this  deed  are  honorable  : 
What  private  griefs  they  have,  alas !  I  know  not, 
That  made  them  do  't ;  they  are  wise  and  honorable, 
And  will,  no  doubt,  with  reasons  answer  you. 
I  come  not,  friends,  to  steal  away  your  hearts  j 
I  am  no  orator,  as  Brutus  is ; 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man. 
That  love  my  friend,  and  that  they  know  full  well 
That  gave  me  public  leave  to  speak  of  him  ; 
For  I  have  neither  wit,  nor  words,  nor  worth, 
Action,  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood :  I  only  speak  right  on ; 
I  tell  you  that  which  you  yourselves  do  know ; 
Show  you  sweet  Ceesar's  wounds,  poor,  poor  dumb  mouths, 
And  bid  them  speak  for  me ;  but,  were  I  Brutus, 
And  Brutus  Antony,  there  were  an  Antony 
Would  ruffle  up  your  spirits,  and  put  a  tongue 
In  every  wound  of  Cagsar,  that  should  move 
The  stones  of  Rome  to  rise  and  mutiny. 


LESSON   XXVI. — END    OP   THE   ROMAN  REPUBLIC. 

1.  The  effect  of  Antony's  artful  oration  was  such  as  to  fill 
the  multitude  with  indignation  and  rage;  and  while  some, 
tearing  up  the  benches  of  the  senate-house,  formed  of  them  a 
funeral  pile  and  burned  the  body  of  Caesar,  others  ran  through 
the  streets  with  drawn  weapons  and  flaming  torches,  de- 
nouncing vengeance  against  the  conspirators.  Brutus  and 
Cassius,  and  their  adherents,  fleeing  to  Greece,  and  thus  se- 
curing the  eastern  provinces,  prepared  to  defend  themselves 
by  force  of  arms.  Antony,  remaining  at  Rome,  and  aided  by 
Lep'idus,  sought  to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  the  state ; 
but  he  found  a  powerful  rival  in  the  young  Octavius  Csesar, 
and  civil  war  for  a  time  raged  in  Italy. 

2.  At  length  Antony  and  Octavius,  having  agreed  to  settle 
their  difierences,  marched  with  united  forces  against  the  con- 
spirators, whose  army  they  defeated  in  the  battle  of  Philippi, 
a  small  town  in  Thrace.  Both  Cassius  and  Brutus,  giving 
way  to  despair,  destroyed  themselves.  Over  the  dead  body, 
Antony  did  justice  to  the  character  of  Brutus,  whom  he  de- 
clared to  be  "  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all." 

*'  This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all : 
All  the  conspirators,  save  only  he. 
Did  that  they  did  in  envy  of  great  Csesar ; 
He  only,  in  a  general  honest  thought, 


538  willson's  fifth  EEADEB.  Pakt  XT. 

And  common  good  to  all,  made  one  of  them. 
His  life  was  gentle,  and  the  elements 
So  mix'd  in  him,  that  Nature  might  stand  up, 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  This  was  a  man  /" 

3.  After  the  battle  of  Philippi,  Octavius  returned  to  Italy 
at  the  head  of  his  legions,  and  Antony  remained  master  of 
the  eastern  provinces.  While  Antony  was  in  Asia  Minor 
the  celebrated  Cleopatra  came  to  visit  him,  and  so  captivated 
was  the  Roman  with  the  charms  and  beauty  of  the  Egyptian 
queen,  that  he  accompanied  her  to  Egypt,  where  he  lived  for 
a  time  in  indolence,  dissipation,  and  luxury,  neglectful  of  the 
calls  of  interest,  honor,  and  ambition.  But  his  shameful  con- 
duct soon  brought  on  a  war  between  him  and  Octavius,  and, 
being  defeated  in  the  naval  battle  of  Actium,  he  fled  again  to 
Egypt,  and  there  put  an  end  to  his  own  life. 

4.  Soon  after  the  death  of  Antony,  Octavius,  at  the  request 
of  the  most  eminent  citizens,  w^ho  were  glad  to  seek  refuge 
from  anarchy  and  civil  war  in  a  military  despotism,  took  the 
government  into  his  own  hands,  and  with  this  event,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  28th  year  before  the  Christian  era,  the  his- 
tory of  the  Roman  republic  ends.  The  senate  then  confer- 
red upon  Octavius  the  title  of  Augustus,  or  "  the  Divine." 
After  a  brief  period  of  wars  in  some  of  the  distant  provinces, 
peace  was  established  throughout  the  vast  domains  of  the 
empire.  It  was  at  this  auspicious  period  that  Jesus  Christ, 
the  promised  Messiah,  was  born,  and  thus  literally  was  his 
advent  the  herald  of  "  peace  on  earth  and  good-will  toward 


HISTORIC  ASSOCIATIONS. 


Whatever  withdraws .  us  from  the  power  of  our  senses, 
whatever  makes  the  past,  the  distant,  or  the  future  predomi- 
nate over  the  present,  advances  us  in  the  dignity  of  thinking 
beings.  Far  from  me  and  far  from  my  friends  be  such  frigid 
philosophy  as  may  conduct  us,  indifferent  and  unmoved,  over 
any  ground  which  has  been  dignified  by  wisdom,  bravery,  or 
virtue.  That  man  is  little  to  be  envied  whose  patriotism 
would  not  gain  force  upon  the  plains  of  Marathon,  or  whose 
piety  would  not  grow  warmer  among  the  ruins  of  lona. — 
Dr.  Johnson. 


KEY 

TO  THE  SOUNDS  OF  THE  LETTERS,  AS  DESIGNATED  IN  TflE  SCHOOL  AND 
FAMILY  READERS. 

The  system  of  pronunciation  here  adopted  is  that  of  Noah  Webster,  as 
contained  in  the  later  and  improved  editions  of  hi^  Dictionary ;  and  the 
indicative  marks  used  are  the  same  as  those  found  in  Webster's  late  "Pro- 
nouncing and  Defining  Dictionary,"  edited  by  Prof  Goodrich. 

Ja,  long^  as  in  fame,  aim,  day,  break,  cake,  make;  heard  also  in  saU,  veil,  gauge,  inveigh. 
A,  short,  as  in  fat,  at,  carry,  tariff;  heard  also  in  plaid,  bade,  raillery,  etc. 
X,  Italian^  as  in  fiir,  father,  biilm,  piith ;  heard  also  in  heart,  hearth,  aunt,  haunch. 
A,  as  in  care,  air,  share,  pair,  bear,  fair,  parent ;  heard  also  in  where,  heir. 
A,  as  in  last,  aek,  grass,  dance,  bninch,  staff,  graft,  pass,  chance,  chant. 
■A,  sound  of  broad  a,  as  in  all,  call,  talk,  haul,  swarm,  awe;  heard  also  in  naught,  taught. 
iA.,  short  sound  of  broad  a,  as  in  what,  wash.     This  coincides  with  the  o  in  not. 
E,  long,  as  in  me,  mCte,  scheme ;  heard  also  in  beard,  field,  leisure,  brief,  seize,  key. 
£,  short,  as  in  met,  merry ;  heard  also  in  feather,  heifer,  leopard,  any,  friend,  guess. 
£,  like  &  in  cure ;  as  in  there,  their,  heir,  where,  ere,  e'er,  whene'er,  etc. 
E,  short  e  before  r,  as  in  tenn,  verge,  verdure,  prefer,  earth. 
E,  like  long  a,  as  in  prey,  they,  survey. 

J,  like  long  e,  as  in  pique,  machine,  mien,  marine.     This  is  the  sound  of  the  French  i. 
i,  long,  as  in  pine,  fine,  isle ;  heard  also  in  height,  aisle,  oblige,  microscope.  ' 

X,  short,  as  in  pin,  fin,  pit ;  heard  also  in  sieve,  since,  been  (bin),  etc. 
1,  short,  verging  toward  m,  as  in  bird,  firm,  virgin,  dirt. 

O,  long,  as  in  note,  oh,  no,  dome;  heard  also  in  course,  yeoman,  roll,  port,  door,  etc. 
6,  short,  as  in  not,  bond ;  heard  also  in  coral,  Corinth.     It  coincides  with  the  a  in  what. 
<5,  like  short  «,  as  in  d6ve,  love,  son,  done,  worm;, heard  also  in  d6es  (duz),  none  (nun). 
6,  like  long  oo,  as  in  prove,  d(3,  move,  tomb,  lose,  who,  to. 

^,  like  short  oo.,  as  in  wolf,  Wolsey.     This  sound  coincides  with  that  of  u  in  bull. 
OO  (short  oo\  as  in  foot,  book,  wool,  wood. 

u,  long,  as  in  mute,  dfity,  cube,  unite,  has  the  sound  of  yu,  slightly  approaching  yoo  when 
it  begins  a  syllable ;  but  in  other  cases  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  the  sound  of  the  y. 
u,  short,  as  in  but,  tub,  sun ;  heard  also  in  does  (duz),  blood  (blud),  etc. 
C,  long,  nearly  approaching  oo  when  preceded  by  r,  as  rule,  rude,  riby. 
U,  like  00  (short  oo),  as  in  full,  bull,  pull,  push,  put  (not  put). 
E  (italic)  marks  a  letter  as  silent,  as  fallen,  token. 

CONSONANTS. 

C  c  soft  (unmarked),  like  s  sharp,  as  in  cede,  mercy. 

€  «  Jtard,  like  k,  as  in  call,  carry. 

CH  ch  (unmarked),  like  tsh,  as  in  child,  choose, 

cH  ch  soft,  like  sh,  as  in  machine,  chaise. 

■CH  €h  hard,  like  k,  as  in  chorus,  epoch. 

G  g  hard  (unmarked),  as  in  go,  gallant. 

6  g  soft,  like  j,  as  in  gentle,  aged. 

8  8  sharp  (unmarked),  as  in  same,  gas. 

ffi  s  soft,  like  z,  as  in  has,  amuse. 

TH  th  sluxip  (unmarked),  as  in  thing,  path. 

TH  th  flat  or  vocal,  as  in  thine,  their. 

N°  like  ng,  as  in  lounger,  con'gress. 

PH  like  /  (unmarked),  as  in  phaeton,  sylph. 

QU  like  kw  (immarked),  as  In  queen,  inquiry. 

Wn  like  hio  (unmarked),  as  in  when,  while. 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OF  WRITERS 

FBOM  WHOM  SELECTIONS  ABE  TAKEN,  OB  QUOTATIONS  MADE,  IN  TIIE  FIFTH   BEADEB. 


Addiaon,  Joseph,  28,  29,  39, 
79,  84,  631. 

^schylus,  502, 

Aird,  Thomas,  463. 

Akenside,  199. 

Anonymous  (the  principal 
only),  46, 102, 12T,  138,  150, 
165,  176,  243,  245,  252,  250, 
304,  351,  352,  303,  389,  392, 
396,  398,  407, 414,  424,  433, 
434,  471,  430,  486,  494,  495. 

Aristophanes,  509. 

Arnold,  Edwin,  153. 

Arnott,  Dr.,  343,  355. 

Ausonins,  229. 

Barrington,  146. 

Beattie,  William,  290. 

Bell,  Sir  Chns.,  105, 107,  111. 

Blair,  23,  310. 

Brande,  388. 

Browne,  Miss  M.  A.,  199. 

Bryant,  43,  306,  314,  372,  379, 

Buckland,  Dr.,  466. 

Bulleid,  221. 

Bulwer  (Sir  Edward  Bulwer 
Lytton),  215,  285,  505. 

Bums,  U.,  430. 

Byrom,  48, 

Byron,  G.  G.,  119,  181,  185, 
287,  307,  421, 502, 5'25. 

Campbell,  T.,  167, 177,  204. 

Carey,  J.,  150. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  492. 

Chambers,  Kobt.,  44,  195, 214. 

Chatham,  Earl  of,  22. 

Childs,  Mrs.,  524. 

Cicero,  M.  T.,  22, 28,  29, 40. 

Clark,  Willis  Gaylord,  375. 

Coleridge,  Hartley,  2,  388. 

Cook,  Eliza,  201,  322. 

Cooper,  Sir  Astley,  127. 

Cowley,  150. 

Cowper,  168, 175, 180. 

Crabbe,  140. 

Croly,  George,  529. 

Cutler,  G.W.,  356,  432. 

Cuvier,  262, 

Dale,  521. 

Darwin,162, 204,343, 345,349. 

Davy,  Sir  H.,  482. 

De  Kav,  260. 

Delille,"207, 

Demosthenes,  36. 

Denham,  40, 

De  Quinrey,  Thomas,  78, 132, 

Dewey,  492, 

Dickens,  Charics,  163,  4^5. 

Doane,  George  W.,  49,  501, 

Dodge,  N.  S„  180. 

Downing,  A.  J.,  293, 296,  302. 

Draper,  John  W,,  120, 123, 

Drayton,  175. 

Drummond,  396. 

Dryden,  John,  36, 176, 

Eclectic  Review,  112. 

IClliott,  305, 

l^Uis,  257. 

ICmerson,  Ralph  W.,  305. 

Fenner,  G.  <.;.,  211. 


Gay,  John,  131. 
Gcrmanicus,  29. 
Glover,  Richard,  501. 
Goethe,  157. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  132,  381. 
Good,  John  Mason,  166. 
Goodiich,  65. 
|Gould,  II.  F.,431. 
I  Gray,  Mrs.  J.  L.,  67. 
Gray,  Thomas,  32,  33,  88, 445, 
Greenwood,  405. 
Grimke,  76. 
Guyot,  374,  377. 
Halleck,  Fitz  Greene,  38. 
Hamilton,  Dr.,  233. 
Harvey,  100, 
Heber,  Bishop,  414. 
Hemans,   Mrs,,  147,  298,  308 

421,  488, 
Henry,  Patrick,  222. 
Herschel,  Sir  J.  F,  W„  487, 
Hitchco«k,  Dr. ,  391, 
Holmes,  Oliver  W.,  12,  85. 
Homer,  179,  303,  431. 
Hood,  Thomas,  184,  430. 
Hooker,  Worthington,  98,117. 
Horace,  231,  328, 
Howison,  406. 

Howitt,  Mary,  194,  205,  465, 
Howitt,  William,  372. 
Humboldt,  188,  376. 
Hunt,  Leigh,  157. 
Hunt,  R.,  171,  417,  442,  444. 
Irving,  Washington,  173, 178. 
Jameson,  Mrs.,  278. 
JeflFrey,  Francis,  H.56, 
Jewsbury,  Mrs,,  504, 
Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  39, 130. 
Johnson,  E.,  104. 
Johnston,  Prof.,  420,  427. 
Juvenal,  230,  254. 
Kellogg,  l!l,  527. 
Kennedy,  417. 
Landon,  Miss  (L.  E.  Maclean), 

169,  260,  304. 
La  Bruycre,  48. 
Lacon,  222. 
Lardner,  D.,  96. 
Le  Sage,  216. 
Lindley,  188. 
Linna;us,  142, 
Literary  Wortd,  295. 
London  Atlas,  136. 
London  Morning  Chron.,  116, 
Longfellow,  177,  182,  210,  315. 
Loudon's  Magazine,  298. 
Lowell,  James  KuBsell,  185, 
Lyell,  387. 
Lyons,  146. 

-Macaulay,  T.  B.,  513, 617, 
Mackay,  Chas,,  129,  418, 432, 
Mant,  Richard,  139. 
Mantell,  1  )r.  ,473, 474,487, 488. 
Marsdcu,  40,  50 
Maiiry,  Lieut.,  209. 
Millor,  IL,  463,  469,  471, 476. 
Milton,  29,41,142,223,420,  ir>8. 
Muntgoirtery,80,  ISS, 239, 246, 

863, 481. 


Moore,  Thomas,  149, 152, 166, 
169,  243,  247. 

Morris,  (r.  P.,  176. 

New  Monthly  Magazine,  369. 

New  York  Spectator,  133. 

Noel,  Thomas,  37. 

North  American  Review,  305. 

Nott,  Rev.  Dr.,  22. 

Oppian,  236,  238,  240,  24L 

Ovid,  180. 

Park,  Mungo,  200. 

Parkinson,  487. 

Percival,  J.  G.,  369,  397,  402. 

Picton,  J.  A.,  303. 

Pierpont,  John,  184, 311, 

Poe,  Edgar  A,,  219,  489. 

PoUok,  178. 

Pope,  Alexander,  22,  23,  30, 
84,40,53,434, 

Prentice,  George  D.,  384 

Prior,  162. 

Proctor,  Bryan  W,,  394. 

Read,  T,  Buchanan,  408. 

Richards,  Capt.,  238. 
Richter,  Jean  Panl,  312. 
Roberts,  Sarah,  192. 

Roscoe,  W,,  154. 

Saxe,  J,  G.,  355, 

ScliUler,  426. 

Scoresby,  263. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  33, 171, 176, 

198,  291, 292,  382,  496, 
Shakspearc,  19,  31,  3'2,  35, 38, 
40,  41,  42,  78,  82,  110,  177, 
197,  273,  274,  417,  461,  533. 
Shelley,  162,  386. 
Sigoumey,  Mrs.,  158, 809,371. 
Simms,  W.  G.,  357. 
Smith,  Charlotte,  209,  300. 
Smith,  Horace,  471. 
Somerville,  Mrs.,  399. 
Sophocles,  235,  610. 
Southey,  Mr.-«,,  159. 
Southey,  R.,  71, 176,  837, 413. 
Spenser,  110,  223. 
Sprague,  Charles,  135,  222. 
Swainson,  52,  240,  254. 
Tasso,  109. 
Taylor,  Jane,  281. 
Tennyson,  331, 
Thomson,  Ja6.,  131,  145,  152, 

187, 2(tl. 
Tapper,  .M.  F.,  143, 195,  21  i. 
Twamloy,  Mrs.,  167, 187. 
Virgil,  36, 70, 152,177,184,187. 
'Walker,  .^idney,  76, 
I  Walton,  Izaak,  229, 
Warton,  289. 
Webster,  Daniel,  47. 
While,  Henry  Kirke,  194 
IWillis,  N.  P.,  103. 
|WiI.-*on,John,.395,409. 
Winthrop,  Robert  C,  320. 
l^Voodworth,  Samuel,  334 
IWolcott,  John,  456. 
Wordsworth,    William,    INJ, 

166,  243,  27'?,  48^  498. 
,Varrell,2r)2,257. 
1  Young,  Edward,  40, 42. 


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